Today we had a visit with Sunny and Sprout’s family. Instead of being cooped up in an apartment they suggested we meet at a park nearby. It was a gorgeous day, so why not?
We put the address they gave us in the GPS, then got spectacularly lost. Eventually Sunny saw something she recognized and guided us through roads that looked closed, a one way railroad bridge, more roads that looked closed… and into Burma.
Hidden in Unity Island Park in Buffalo is a Burmese cultural haven. There are vendors with stalls selling everything from cotton candy and lollipops, to every decadent Burmese dish you can imagine, to Lyongi, to abayas. There are nets all around, with groups of men and boys playing Chinlone, which is a Burmese game played with a rattan ball and a volleyball net, with some mix of rules (to my very white eyes) that resemble a cross between volleyball and soccer.
Time flew. We were there for more than 3 hours and it didn’t feel like it. It’s amazing how much we can communicate with folks when we don’t speak the same language. The kids are good about translating for us, as is the relative who has the other three siblings. We manage.
Money also flew. We went through all our cash and the family went through a lot too. There was so much temptingly delicious food on offer! They host us like we are their guests every visit and it kills me that they spend money on us. But there’s nothing to be done for it because every offer to pay for things is met as if we’d insulted them with a slap across the face. We’ve stopped insisting. We try to bring some goodies or toys for the kids every few visits but even that is pushing our luck. They’re just the most gracious hosts.
Not for the first time, I sat on the ground on a rush mat surrounded by a language I don’t speak, people who don’t look like me who are wearing clothing from another country, eating spicy tasty food, and playing games I’d never heard of. I just paused and soaked it all in for a bit before one of the cousins interrupted my reverie with a playful question and I got drawn back in.
I’m utterly honored to be accepted enough to be allowed to be present with them in their element. We’ll be back to that same park for more Saturdays of sunshine, thanaka-colored faces, bright lyongi, raucous calls of Chinlone games in the distance, surrounded by family. I never in a million years would have thought our fostering journey could bring us anything like the richness we have been experiencing in getting to know the girls’ family.
The woman who made all the placement calls to foster families for the agency for years recently left her position. I wish I knew where she’d gone, because I owe her a debt of gratitude for calling us that April Friday, three years ago. She knew we liked fostering kids with medical issues and knew she had a really sick kid coming in, and called us. Thank god she did. Thank god I answered her call. I can’t imagine how dull my life would be without all this extended family magic.
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