This summer I had the privilege of traveling with English Language Institute China. We spent most of our time teaching some of the brightest kids I have ever met at an English camp in a city of about 300,000 people. But I remember most clearly the day my team of 30 North Americans took a bus out into a much more rural area.
When the bus doors opened, releasing us into the hot Central Asian sun, we gathered together on the hard-packed dirt across from a large group of locals waiting to greet us. In an attempt to stave off the heat, we wore loose clothing, hats and sunscreen. A few of us even carried small battery-powered fans, but sweat already dripped down our pale foreheads. In contrast, the people welcoming us were dressed in traditional clothing—bright colors, long sleeves and skirts, head scarves on a few women, and round hats on the men. A man in the center began to play a ditar and sing.
“Let’s dance! Why not?” called our tour guide. Slowly, we began to move, melting together in an odd mixture of West and East: in front of me, a woman in yellow turned her arms and wrists gently in time to the music; next to me, Kyle was doing the floss.
After the applause at the end of the song, we were ushered towards the shade of the trees, instructed to remove our shoes and stoop low to enter into the shade of a large yurt. An old woman served us tea, cold juice, barley soup and sweets the texture of soft dirt.
Southern hospitality is nothing compared to Central Asian hospitality. After what felt like a feast, but was merely a precursor to the banquet we were given at lunch, we left the yurt for more dancing. Music blared over grainy loudspeakers, and everyone lifted their arms and joined in the dance.
As we danced, I noticed two young girls who had not been there before. One wore a multi-patterned blue and white dress and an orange and red headscarf, her hair in long dark braids. The other was in a bright, red dress with long sleeves and a skirt that swept the dirt. Over this, she wore a maroon vest covered in embroidery. She wore a headdress that framed her round face with beads and embroidery. It looked heavy and must have been uncomfortable in the heat, but she swayed with no less grace. Gradually, those around stopped dancing, making space in the middle where the two of them turned their wrists and moved their feet side to side. I watched from the edge of the circle and snapped in time. The girl in red looked at me and extended a hand of invitation. I put my fingers in hers, and she drew me into the circle.
I watched her closely, mirroring every move. When she stepped right, I stepped left. When she turned a wrist or snapped her fingers, I did, too. I know I didn’t look like I belonged in the middle of a Central Asian village, with my Covenant College fanny pack over one shoulder, a thrifted straw cloche hat and slightly too big sandals, but for that one moment, I felt as if I did. I couldn’t stop smiling.
This memory sticks with me because I think it was a little bit like heaven. Jesus pulls us out of our sin and ignorance right into the middle of the dance. We watch him and learn to imitate his movements. We stumble for now, but one day all things will be made new, and we will move with perfect grace in the new earth. I pray that those girls I danced with will be there, too.
After the music subsided, we were ushered into a long room with a low table stretched across the whole length of the room. We settled onto thin cushions, our backs to cream and gold wallpaper. There was a small AC unit above the window—an unexpected blessing. Lunch was served. We feasted on cucumbers, pistachios, tomatoes, tea, something that resembled a dumpling stew and pastries.
There is a custom in that part of the world that after a meal the oldest guest present should pronounce good wishes for the hosts. The oldest member of our team must have been in his seventies. After a day of teaching English, he would fall asleep during team meetings, wake up to walk to dinner, and fall asleep there, too. With a little trouble, he got to his feet and began addressing the father and mother of the house. The longer he spoke the more it began to feel like a prayer. As we all sat, hands cupped to receive his words, he said: “May the only news you hear be the Good News.” After he concluded his blessing, the lady of the house responded: “All your wishes will come true.”
In a place where it is likely that the name of Christ has never been spoken, an old man asked that these people would receive the gospel, and the answer was “We will.” I pray that it will be soon.
English Language Institute China (ELIC) sends and supports Christians as English teachers in hard-to-access countries across the Middle East, North Africa and Asia. They focus on providing quality English education and building relationships with those around them. They send teachers both on long-term teams and for short-term summer trips. If you are interested in learning more about the organization, please contact Lily Howe at lily.howe@covenant.edu.