Since we didn’t have a car in Singapore, we had to take a taxi, a rented van, the bus or the subway wherever we went. The taxi drivers were entertaining to say the least…
----------
Taxi Driver: Where are you from?
Us: The United States
Taxi: Oh! You know Christopher Columbus
Us: (smiling) yep.
Taxi: (emphatically) All the history books say Christopher Columbus a great man. He not great. He just lost his way. He lucky. He not a great man…. You know General MacArthur?
Us: (highly amused) yeah
Taxi: Two Americans say, “I’ll be back,” General MacArthur and the Terminator. [He extols the wonders of The Terminator and his other “best actors”]
Us: (laughing) uh-huh.
Us: Were you born in Singapore?
Taxi: I made in Singapore.
Us: Okay, so you were born in Singapore
Taxi: No, I made in Singapore; I manufactured in Singapore. Designed in Singapore. Produced in Singapore. Have a stamp on my left buttock say “Made in Singapore.”
John David: (Indicating with his hands about the size of a baseball) This big?
Taxi: No. This big. That big, counterfeit. If on the right buttock, imported. China, Japan, Thailand, Indonesia. Imported. If you want to know where someone from, roll down their pants and look at stamp. Left, Singapore; Right, imported.
[Taxi Driver begins laughing manically, speeds up, starts vocalizing a car’s screeching noises, and saying as though he were putting words in our mouths:]
Too fast, Uncle! Too fast [fake screeching noises] Welcome to the crazy taxi driver; I the fastest taxi driver in Singapore. See no traffic jam [He dodges out of our lane to cut in front of the cars ahead of us].
What are you doing in Singapore?
Us: (Slightly perturbed, but amused) We’re teaching.
Taxi: You? Teaching? I teach too.
Us: Oh. What do you teach?
Taxi: I teach my children. I teach them to be naughty. You want to know how to be naughty? Tonight you go to Zooks. Not Zoo, Zooks. Lots of charming girls and charming boys.
[He turns down the small neighborhood road that leads to the school, and he gets distracted by the taxi ahead of us.]
He not know how to drive a taxi. He not a real taxi driver.
[He starts tailgating the other taxi.]
He slow.
--------
We got to the school and got to of our cab laughing, thankful to be alive, and wondering what the drive was high on… an especially interesting question since in Singapore, people caught trafficking drugs are executed. Almost without exception.
L'chaim
Life is an experience.
Or rather, a thought
On an experience
Could they be the same?
~
Or perhaps, life is a memory.
Of being or of thinking?
I do not know.
~
Failing that
LIfe is a dream.
Of experiences
Of thoughts
Of memories to come
~
Life is. Life was. Life will be.
Or rather, a thought
On an experience
Could they be the same?
~
Or perhaps, life is a memory.
Of being or of thinking?
I do not know.
~
Failing that
LIfe is a dream.
Of experiences
Of thoughts
Of memories to come
~
Life is. Life was. Life will be.
In This City
I meant to post a facebook note while I was in Singapore, so I wrote this early in the trip. I never got a chance to post it though, so a month later, here it is:
While I stirred the gumbo a little bit ago, I glanced out the open window at the canopy of trees in the Singaporean park across the street from the Vosburg’s condo. Who would have guessed that I would be in Singapore the first time I made gumbo? Sure, Louisiana and Singapore are somewhat antithetical, and yet, in some way, it doesn’t seem entirely uncharacteristic of Singapore to mix the two together. It seems like a city that absorbs any culture that makes its home here. People tell our team we should visit China Town and Arab Street, and we’ve already visited Little India.
For the first couple of days, we were ridiculously busy teaching and getting ready to teach. The part of the city I’d seen appeared remarkably Western. As for the students, teaching them felt about the same as teaching American students. The fruits are fantastic and exotic, but other than that, I could easily forget that I wasn’t in America.
Me and one of my 6th gra- ders, Nat- alie <3
Left: Pomello- one of many new fruits I tried. It's like a less flavorful grapefruit
Last night, George, our Singaporean van driver drove us downtown to witness kavadi in Little India, the Indian section of Singapore. At first we just saw streams of people flowing down the sidewalk to the right of our car, but then we noticed a feathery pavilion sticking up above the mass of people. When the feathery pavilion passed us, we could see the whole contraption. A man inside carried the heavy, intricately decorated, metal cage. Hundreds of needles protruding from his skin connected him to the cage, and he walked. George told us that the man had been fasting for one month, eating only one vegetarian meal every day, so his friends and family walked around him to help him if he fainted. His goal was to reach the temple, when he reached the temple, his sins, he believed, would be absolved—for one year. We watched a dozen men pass by us in these cages, and additional men with rods stuck through their mouths or walking on shoes of nails also made their way to the temple.
At one point, one of the bystanders was beating a drum, so one of the men with the needle cages danced and spun. As he spun, some of the metal protrusions came loose, so his friends buried it into his skin again for him. My heart breaks that all of these displays are useless. Christ died once for all, and I am unbelievably thankful that I know Christ as my savior. I ache for those whose metal rods pierce their back, their sides, and their stomachs, to understand, that the nails that pierced Jesus paid their way, not for a year, but for eternity.
After that sobering scene, George found a place for us to park and get out in the masses of the Little India. If at any point I had felt I was in America, last night certainly alerted me that I am in another country. I’ve never been in such a huge crowd. It felt like I was swimming in a river of people. With an almost exclusively Indian demographic, I was feeling pretty conspicuous. The sights, the sounds, the smells, and the tastes were simply exhilarating.
We got to eat in an authentic Indian restaurant. I love spicy foods, but our team members who don’t like them didn’t fare quite so well, unfortunately. George recommended that we stop and buy coconuts from a street vendor (don’t worry, the Vosburgs said it was safe). They were absolutely delicious. The vendor lopped the tops off and put straws in the coconut, then after we drank the coconut milk, he used a huge butcher knife to slice the coconut in half, so we could eat the meat out of the inside.
I’m excited to see what God is going to continue to do this week. The Bluetree song, “God of This City” keeps floating around in my head. The chorus goes something like:
You’re the God of this city.
You’re the King of these people
You’re the Lord of this nation.
You are,
And there is no one like our God.
For greater things are yet to come,
And greater things are still to be done
In this city.
The students we’ve been talking to have begun to seem as though they are catching a vision of what it means to communicate with their culture effectively for Christ. For greater things have yet to come in this melting pot of a city. In the mean time, the gumbo in the kitchen is starting to smell really delicious.
While I stirred the gumbo a little bit ago, I glanced out the open window at the canopy of trees in the Singaporean park across the street from the Vosburg’s condo. Who would have guessed that I would be in Singapore the first time I made gumbo? Sure, Louisiana and Singapore are somewhat antithetical, and yet, in some way, it doesn’t seem entirely uncharacteristic of Singapore to mix the two together. It seems like a city that absorbs any culture that makes its home here. People tell our team we should visit China Town and Arab Street, and we’ve already visited Little India.
For the first couple of days, we were ridiculously busy teaching and getting ready to teach. The part of the city I’d seen appeared remarkably Western. As for the students, teaching them felt about the same as teaching American students. The fruits are fantastic and exotic, but other than that, I could easily forget that I wasn’t in America.
Me and one of my 6th gra- ders, Nat- alie <3
Left: Pomello- one of many new fruits I tried. It's like a less flavorful grapefruit
Last night, George, our Singaporean van driver drove us downtown to witness kavadi in Little India, the Indian section of Singapore. At first we just saw streams of people flowing down the sidewalk to the right of our car, but then we noticed a feathery pavilion sticking up above the mass of people. When the feathery pavilion passed us, we could see the whole contraption. A man inside carried the heavy, intricately decorated, metal cage. Hundreds of needles protruding from his skin connected him to the cage, and he walked. George told us that the man had been fasting for one month, eating only one vegetarian meal every day, so his friends and family walked around him to help him if he fainted. His goal was to reach the temple, when he reached the temple, his sins, he believed, would be absolved—for one year. We watched a dozen men pass by us in these cages, and additional men with rods stuck through their mouths or walking on shoes of nails also made their way to the temple.
At one point, one of the bystanders was beating a drum, so one of the men with the needle cages danced and spun. As he spun, some of the metal protrusions came loose, so his friends buried it into his skin again for him. My heart breaks that all of these displays are useless. Christ died once for all, and I am unbelievably thankful that I know Christ as my savior. I ache for those whose metal rods pierce their back, their sides, and their stomachs, to understand, that the nails that pierced Jesus paid their way, not for a year, but for eternity.
After that sobering scene, George found a place for us to park and get out in the masses of the Little India. If at any point I had felt I was in America, last night certainly alerted me that I am in another country. I’ve never been in such a huge crowd. It felt like I was swimming in a river of people. With an almost exclusively Indian demographic, I was feeling pretty conspicuous. The sights, the sounds, the smells, and the tastes were simply exhilarating.
We got to eat in an authentic Indian restaurant. I love spicy foods, but our team members who don’t like them didn’t fare quite so well, unfortunately. George recommended that we stop and buy coconuts from a street vendor (don’t worry, the Vosburgs said it was safe). They were absolutely delicious. The vendor lopped the tops off and put straws in the coconut, then after we drank the coconut milk, he used a huge butcher knife to slice the coconut in half, so we could eat the meat out of the inside.
.
I’m excited to see what God is going to continue to do this week. The Bluetree song, “God of This City” keeps floating around in my head. The chorus goes something like:
You’re the God of this city.
You’re the King of these people
You’re the Lord of this nation.
You are,
And there is no one like our God.
For greater things are yet to come,
And greater things are still to be done
In this city.
The students we’ve been talking to have begun to seem as though they are catching a vision of what it means to communicate with their culture effectively for Christ. For greater things have yet to come in this melting pot of a city. In the mean time, the gumbo in the kitchen is starting to smell really delicious.