Day 31: Novelty

It rained tonight for the first time all summer. Before it started, I walked outside to look at the sunset. The sky was a yellowish orange and dark clouds loomed on the horizon. Gusts of wind blew dust up into my face. 

At around 9:30 pm, the skies opened up and fat droplets fell down. It felt like the desert breathed a sigh of relief, like its pores had been drying up for weeks and were finally being given the attention they needed.

The roof started leaking pretty badly and guests gathered to watch a steady stream of water land on the floor. They clapped. I ran to get a mop. 

As we watched the rain fall, I thought about the novelty of every little thing for our recently arrived—whether it be their first rainfall in the US, their first bite of a Rice Krispy Treat, or their first plane ticket. 

People love look at the map we have hanging up outside the kitchen. They point at El Paso and try to figure out where they're going. They're amazed at the grandioso nature of the United States. They often shake their head in disbelief when we tell them how long it takes a bus to make a trip from here to their final destinations. 

They're blown away by the big things, but also the details. For example, they don't understand why the day and month are switched in how dates are written in English vs Spanish (Spanish dates are written day/month/year, English dates are written month/day/year). They mostly all have four names (as is customary in Latin America) and aren't accustomed to just using their first and last names only. They think it's strange to eat peanut butter and bananas for breakfast. 

I think it's easy for me to focus on where everyone here is coming from, but I don't think as much about what they are going to and what their lives will be like there. I rarely think about the language barrier they'll face after their initial trial getting through the airport. I rarely wonder what strange foods they'll try, or where they'll send their kids to school, or what work they'll find in their respective cities. 

I send them off and I've done my duty. I don't think as often about the new and unfamiliar things they are about to encounter. 

In many ways, I know it will be unbelievably challenging for them to start from ground zero. But I wish I could be there to see their amazement at the new things. 

I wish I could be there for all of their first rainstorms. 

(A wall in the intake room of our shelter.)