The Land of Spice and Chai

The air was cold and dusty as I stepped off the plane and climbed down rickety stairs onto a deserted runway. I had already been living in the “decaying city” for over three months and yet, the shock was worse because I knew what to expect. People pushed past me and burped in my face. I cringed. Did I really just fly back to this place? At baggage claim a band of smugglers had paid off the workers to release their illegally/legally-imported-goods from Thailand first. So I sat on my cart for an hour before normal luggage finally started making the rounds. A taxi man met me at the door, and smiled at my white skin, thinking he could make a pretty penny; “1,000. Special price for you madam.” I scoffed back and said in his native tongue, “I’m not stupid. I’ve lived here three months. It cost three hundred.” He laughed and brought all this friends over. “This girl speaks [our language],” he shouted. As usual they all gathered to shake my hand. But I was in no mood to converse with strange men. Annoyed I demanded someone to take me home. A gracious old man led me to his car, offering the going rate.

As we left the airport and crossed the bridge, which overlooks vast fields of dirt and trash, I caught a glimpse of the setting sun. It was one of those mystical moments that only exist here in the land of spice and chai. The billions of layers of pollution that separated my eyes from that burning ball of gas, allowed me to look straight into it’s heart. The sun was a perfectly round circle, as if the sky was a coloring book left untouched except for the very right hand corner, which was painted a brilliant brick red, speckled with a hint of saffron.

It was as if God blew up my heart. I thought back to the day before when I was sitting on a gorgeous island beach, receiving the most magnificent massage as hot rain poured down from the heavens.  Or three days before that when my dearest friend and I were balancing on top of elephants as they showered us from their trunks. We casually chilled on the neck of one named Mr. Joke, and sang In the Jungle, as he strolled down the street. I remembered sliding down a rock and off a waterfall after hiking through the Thai jungle. But mostly I returned to those moments of breathing in clean air, of looking at mountains peaks, or seeing my feet at the bottom of a crystal clear ocean. And for a brief moment, I envied those working for justice in a paradise place like Thailand.  

But as I stared into the spicy South Asian sun, burning ever so softly into the slums of my city, I remembered why I was called here. Years ago I prayed for God to send me where no one else wanted to go. I prayed I would be a light in the darkest of places. I didn’t know then, but God would answer my prayers. 

So I took a deep breath and walked back into the forgotten city I call home.