Behind the Veil

Over the course of the last year we've made friends with a lot of our neighbors. It's easy to meet people by just hanging out on the block, and when you share the same space all the time, you eventually get to know people. 

But some are more difficult to be friends with. Usually it's something like fear or misunderstanding that puts a moment of hesitation between you and your neighbor and keeps you from fully interacting with one another. 

There's one family at the end of our block where that was the case. Although the kids from this family are often outside, we saw the parents much less often. We played with their kids regularly, especially their nine-year-old son, the second-oldest of five. Like most kids, he always runs up when we come onto the block. When we did different activities with the kids he, and sometimes his siblings, were there too. So we played ball, painted, chalked up the sidewalk, and read together.

But we didn't let them into our house. Other kids would come in and play on Saturday afternoons, but not the ones from that family. They wanted to so badly, but as a team we decided long ago that we must meet a child's parent and have permission before they can play in our house. And we had never met their parents because they rarely spent time outside.

And when their mom did make an appearance, it was from behind a veil. Something about the veil made it difficult to approach her, especially being known on the block as a "missionary" from the church around the corner.

From the beginning we had a hunch that they Muslim because of their head coverings. Islam is pretty common in Philly, especially in Southwest, so it's not really a big deal to anyone around here, including us. But for some reason the fact that she was Muslim, represented by her veil, made it a little more difficult to approach her. I wondered if my presence was offensive or if she would want to speak to me. Maybe that's why she never comes outside?

 

But one day I did. She was sitting with some of the other women I know, so I greeted them and introduced myself and her. I told her I enjoyed playing with her son, that he was a bright kid with a lot of questions. And after that conversation the veiled face had a name: Ms. T. 

I wasn't the only one initiating a friendship with Ms. T. Nicole, who has much less inhibition than me, had been trying to be friends with her for a while and actually invited her and the family to come to our house for dinner on Saturday. And, to my surprise, they came!

After she got into the house with the door closed behind her, she reached up and removed her veil. For the first time I saw her face. And it was as if our invitation to friendship was accepted. For the next two hours we talked, ate, danced, and had a great time together. Some of the kids were away for the weekend, so it allowed us to have more personal conversations with Ms. T and her oldest daughter. It was one of the most lively, engaging, and comfortable community dinners we have had in a while. Clearly my assumptions about her--that she didn't want to talk to the missionaries, that we were an offensive presence--were wrong.

In our conversations we learned that the reason Ms. T doesn't come out of the house often is because she has chronic pain that makes it difficult to do much at all. She wants so badly to work, but between her pain and a special-needs three-year-old, it's nearly impossible. 

Just like the label of "missionary" doesn't keep me from wanting friends on the block, I shouldn't have made the same assumptions based on Ms. T's veil. She enjoyed the time with us and stayed later than most. 

As she left, she covered her face once more. But now I know what's behind the veil. It's not a mystery. It's Ms. T, a friend.

**Some might read this and blame Ms. T for my fear and misunderstanding: "If she didn't wear a veil, it would have made things easier." I do not at all intend to blame or speak poorly of Muslims or anyone else who dons a face covering. I was wrong from the beginning for allowing her veil to be a source of discomfort for me. I am sharing a journey of overcoming fear and misunderstanding to become friends across barriers of difference. I inherited those fears from society, and I write this with hope that our society one day understands and accepts women who choose to wear a veil.

Vignettes

As part of Mission Year, we have an hour each week devoted to "Curriculum," when we discuss a book that Mission Year asks all of us to read. We've read books about community development, race, theology of the oppressed, spiritual practices, even one of the gospels! The book we're reading now is called House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros, and it's a series of vignettes. To reflect on the book and our time in Mission Year, we wrote vignettes about our experiences. We're sharing them here for your enjoyment. Some resemble poetry more than a vignette and there's one song, but all reflect on our year.

Arrival

    It’s stuffy and sticky and sleepy in the back seat of the van. The darkness hides all but the whites of her eyes, surveying the new, unfamiliar landscape.

     There are tracks in the middle of the road and cars ride on top of the them with no trouble. What are the tracks for?

     I wonder how long our ride will be. Trips from the airport are always long--“Here we are!”--But not this one.

     “I can’t believe I’m doing this. I’m in the hood; I really can’t believe I’m doing this,” the eyes tell me out of the darkness. I don’t know if it’s an invitation to converse or just a statement. Actually I don’t know anyone or anything. I just get out of the van, into more darkness. Darkness.

Progressive Process

Pennies parting priceless places

Smiles on hurt hearts and broken faces

Who waged which war?

Opinions open onto oppression

Struggle is inevitable

Butter

     On a small street are tall skinny houses that looked as though they've been smashed together. In a house covered in crimson red bricks and a new cast iron gate is a tall fiery woman full of energy that fills her house.
     Her 4 children hold her firecracker personality, she with a heart of gold.
     She strives to offer them the best. After school they run, hide, squirm to get away but she manages to reign them in for more education.
     A small rectangular stick that brings life to any dish resembles her name, and is much like her personality.

The Trained Eye

To the naked, untrained eye

In and out, in and out

People come and go

Up the stairs, down the stairs

Through the door, out the door

In the house, out the house

Things get passed, side to side

In the car, out the car, under the car?

Black bags, rolled up newspapers

The trash pile near the corner of the stoop

Things unseen to the untrained eye

But I see, the smoke after the pick up

What Waits

And are you too blind to see
What waits on the other side

Stuck here held by chains
Like a voice without a name
You are waiting for change
As blame

Drowning in your shame
You turn it all to angst
Eating away your very soul
How you long to be whole

No matter to my words
You close your heart it hurts
I'm only here for a moment
Then I'm gone to the wind

My right hand offers hope
My left hand offers love
Quit drowning in this sea
Quit your dying null to peace

Chorus

Bridge
This my friend is what I see
You keep holding on to be
Let go of yourself my dear
A caged bird can't really sing

Chorus

Sharing Jesus

“Ice Cream!”

A shriek of joy pierces straight through the heavy humid air. The now familiar sound of tiny bells and chimes announcing the presence of the ice cream truck is quickly approaching. I scoop up a child sitting at the top of the stairs and gently place him on the sidewalk.

“You need anything Miss Bella? its gonna be fifty cents left when I get my sandwich.”

“nah, I’m good. Go on, before he leaves!”

I watch him run over and join all the other neighborhood kids at the ice cream truck. Its a weekend symphony that plays in the evening… over and over again the ice cream jingle accompanied by children laughing and shouting to get right up to the window.

My minds eye sees something different. I imagine that the man in the window is something similar to a modern day Jesus; welcoming the children with open arms, songs, and laughter. I imagine that each child that lifts up a dollar, or their spare change, is actually lifting up their hopes and dreams. Each one leaves with a beautiful blessing that suits them… even if its not what everyone else expected.

“Wait, is that a sandwhich?”

“kind of... its like a pretzel with cheese and stuff!

“You got that at the ice-cream truck?”

“yup!”

I laugh and shake my head in disbelief. Literally EVERYTHING comes from that truck! As the stoop of my home fills with kids enjoying their treats, my eyes wander to a child on the otherside of the street. He has no food in hand, no treat from the truck. His eyes catch mine… than he shakes his head and walks away. when he turns the corner, I find i'm not the only one observing him.

“You know him?”

“nah. i’ve seen him though”

“does he live here?”

“He doesn't belong here. He’s not a part of our community.”

I fall silent, mind turning.

I have what I need.
I’m good.

“shouldn't we all be apart of the community?”

“I guess some people don’t like to share.”

Smiles

I turn the corner

62^nd and Reedland

Headphones in my ears and tired after a long day at work

I slowly take them out and my ears fill with new sounds—laughter, conversation, friendship.

I look to my right

     Hello Ms. Liz, Hello Ms. Eva, Hello Ms. Dee

Their smiles and eyes meet mine.

Casual conversation, standing on the porch, leaning on the rails.

Falling into familiarity and comfort

I excuse myself

Hello Aizhe, Hello Nina, Hello Jylen

Another stop, more smiles

Some faces and smiles I know, some are strangers though

Others friends.

I turn and see the trees

Home

Transcending Words (Guest Blogger)

The following is taken from the newsletter of one of my teammates, Priscillia. I share many of her sentiments about how useful art is, and I wanted to share what she wrote to her supporters this month: 

"Interacting with those around me in my home and neighborhood, I have been struck by the different ways in which people express themselves and communicate. One form of expression that I have come to appreciate so much more this year is art. For most of you who know me, you may be a little puzzled as I am probably one of the world’s worst artists. However, my neighbors and teammates have shown me so much about the beauty and depth of expression that can come from art. Using art as a medium, whether it is drawing, painting, mixed media, etc. to communicate often allows people to convey more about their hearts than what words can. I have found that in times of deep emotional struggle or confusion, art has allowed me as well as others to express what is on our hearts and mind.

"A night of deep transformation and vulnerability within my household occurred after a teammate shared what was on her heart and then asked us to use art to express what had been weighing on our minds as she was sharing. Using our artwork, we were able to talk about our struggles as well as the beauty of community. While interacting with my neighbors, my teammates and I often invite the kids over to draw or create. 

"Angel is a high school senior who often comes over just to talk about the things that are going on in her life – these talks often go for hours, but at the end, we are always met with deep gratitude from Angel for our willingness to listen. She often calls us her “human diaries”! One day, she was having an emotional week and wanted to get a lot off of her chest. At one point, I suggested that we take 20 minutes to just draw what we were feeling. Afterwards, we all had the chance to share about what we drew – it was a great way to interact with each other in a different way than usual. Additionally, on another particularly difficult day with one the kids in our neighborhood, we asked him to draw how he was feeling and simply left it at that. 

"There is such beauty in being able to express without any words or expectations, to use art as an outlet for emotion and struggle. When I hang out with neighbors, I often ask the youth in our neighborhood to draw with me, to express what they are feeling, significant events from the week, their hopes and dreams and so much more. Sometimes we have conversations about their art and sometimes we just hang up their artwork and admire it. There is such beauty in being able to create…after all, God is a creator and we are made to be creative beings. There is such joy in being able to share in this activity with my community and discover ways to express myself that transcend words."

Visit Priscillia's personal donation page here.