My Exodus

Hello again friends,

Transitioning into a world that is entirely unprepared for you certainly has its risks and difficulties. To my own surprise, I would say that my personal relationship and dependency on God has already been weathered more here than it ever was in Rwanda. Whereas my accommodations and meals were planned out before I left for Rwanda, life is unpredictable here, and it is your strength and integrity that gets you through the day, not preparation. As I write this in bed, three nights after I felt completely relieved having finally settled into a room, I find myself completely relieved having finally gotten out of it. In less alluding words, I am no longer staying at the apartment in the previous video. I am “homeless” again.

Unfortunately, I did not sleep as easy as I would have liked Sunday night, going to bed far too late. Even after carrying all of luggage across time and unpacking and sorting all of it into my room, I was still unable to crash, no longer accustomed to sleeping in a room alone. I woke up awfully tired and shook my head multiple times before confirming that I was indeed hearing Buddhist chanting from the living room. I left quietly and took the Metro to Piazza del Popolo, getting into work just on time.

As a result of restlessness, my first day of work was a mentally groggy one, though I was energetic and excited that work had begun. I learned that I had chosen the best time for this internship. During my stay, I will be able to attend many important events, including a World Food Programme (WFP) Executive Board meeting and a Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO) bi-annual budget meeting. The USUN mission itself is also keeping busy itself in a variety of both routine and original activities. So even more so than simply having this internship, I also have to be grateful for the time when I have it. However, in the midst of the struggles that appeared at my newly found room, it was hard to appreciate.

It began when I went home Monday night, preparing to pay my first monthly payment, which I assumed would cover from Sunday to one month later. I would have just gone to withdraw the money, but the advertisement had said 550 Euros + utilities though my landlady’s Italian friend and English translator said 550 Euros for everything. I thought to check, knowing that either one was acceptable for where I was staying. My landlady wanted neither though. After tersely explaining herself multiple time, she finally realized that I really did not know Italian and that she was wasting her time. She called an American friend so I could figure it out. She wanted to charge me per day for September at a higher rate, pay for the month of October and a two month’s security deposit. I protested; that was not what we discussed. I went out and gave her money for three nights, telling her I had to think about it.

It’s odd what the human mind can do if it thinks about something for too long. It begins to warp and question until you doubt everything. By Tuesday night, I found myself sitting on the steps of St. Peter’s Square, wishing I knew what to do. At this time, she had agreed to bring down the security deposit to a normal level, but insisted on charging a higher rate for September and any days I spent in December. Additionally, I was not that happy with the lady’s attitude, the internet, a new guy who showed up that afternoon or the constant Buddhist chanting. And there I sat, battling with my discontent. Was it legitimate, or was I simply being unappreciative?

As I stared at the St. Peter’s Basilica, I was reminded of the Israelites, wandering in the desert before Sinai. They had just been freed from the tyranny of Egypt and ran at the opportunity of freedom in a foreign land. But not long after the Red Sea closed, God had them travel through a desert, which was both geographically and spiritually necessary for their journey. They were grumbling about everything. Despite the fact that the Lord had found favor with them and clearly been the source of the newly-found freedom, they failed to trust Him to keep them alive. It only took a few days of a necessary hard time before they began demanding things from Moses and God without upholding His divine rules. I found myself even worse. I have been given the opportunity of my life, and here I am, complaining about the small things, when I had been granted shelter. Yes, the finances were complicated, but not out of my budget; I could afford it. I became content and celebrated with a gelato on the way back to my apartment.

Walking into the apartment with an Italian contract I had made at work, I was confident that the deal would be set, but she refused to sign, and in fact, insisted that I pay for all of December now! What was more, the next morning she said that her friend wanted to stay in my room and that I had to pay today! Keep in mind though that I never fully understood her. Miscommunication was at the root of this entire problem. We could never express ourselves and had to relay on the shaky translation skills of others. But I was sure of she had told me, and I fell into torment again. My third day of work, and I could not focus at all. When no one was looking, I made a few phone calls for others, and to no avail.

But after the USUN mission’s receptionist offered me her and her husband’s guestroom for a week, I knew what I had to do. I left at 2pm, while my supervisor was out running errands anyways. I took the Metro to Cipro and walked to my apartment building. I had already paid for my three nights, so I felt like it time to check out. But just as I entered the complex, my landlady walked out. She greeted me friendly and asked what I was doing back from work. I told her I was going to leave, and she did not look happy. Before I knew what was happening, she had taken me to her Italian friend’s place, where I was scolded for trying to leave after I had a committment. But I thought I was doing a favor, wasn’t her friend moving in? But the translator said there was no friend and that I could leave whenever in December. I went back to work empty-handed and more confused than ever.

Thankfully, another USUN employee noticed my despair. She called my landlady to discuss the terms by which I wanted the room. Maura got a different story as well, this one far more shocking. My landlady was going to hear back from the doctor concerning a surgery, and based on that, had yet to decide whether she would let me stay in November! Now maybe she had been trying to tell me this all along, but this was the first I had heard of it. Moreover, she demanded that I paid for September, October and the security deposit since that was the agreement. Maura also told me that the whole thing sounded sketch, noting that lady refused to give her a last name and was probably renting the apartment without paying the taxes. Upon hearing this, a few people in the office agreed, it was time for me to go.

Admittedly nervous and intimidated, I hastened back to the apartment. If my landlady was still at her friend’s house, I could get in, pack up, leave the keys on the counter and be done with it. I had already paid, there was no understanding or contract, and there was nothing she could do.

I had almost fully entered the lift at the apartment, along with a lady and her dog, when my landlady appeared and squished in as well. She gave me a smile that seemed surprisingly genuine. She did not think I was leaving. I smiled back. As soon as we got in the apartment, I gave her the USUN employee’s cell number and told her to call. Meanwhile, I undid everything I accomplished Sunday, and in record time. I came to the door with my two suitcases, heavy backpack and Alma sidebag and saw her meditating in the living room looking destitute. She quietly got up and came over, dialing someone on her phone, asking me to wait. After a moment’s discussion in Italian, she handed my the mobile; it was the American friend.

“Hello James? Jenny just wanted to tell you that she is really sorry. She is not sure what happened and thinks you’re a great guy. She wishes it would have worked out and hopes you are not angry.”

I looked over at her, into her eyes, before responding. “I am not upset,” I said, “and am sorry it did not work out either. Tell her that I wish the best for her surgery.” I gave her the phone back and set my keys on the counter. Shoving my overly-large bag out the door, we exchange “Ciao”s and I left the courtyard for the last time, so completely relieved.

I am not sure what all of this means for my faith, being that I saw my convictions flip on themselves in less than a day, but at least I have nothing to grumble about where I am now. Tory’s house comes equipped with great wireless internet, free long-distance phone back home, great DVDs, a shower, kitchen and bed. Unfortunately, though, I still am missing a permanent place to stay. That is what this weekend is for. If I could get out of this desert of uncertainty, that would be magnificent.

Thank you for reading. God bless.

Home Is Where the Heart Is

THIS WAS WRITTEN ON SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 23rd

To feel at home, I have concluded that one needs to have both a secure form of shelter and friends who allow you to be yourself, thus meeting both your physical and emotional needs. Lately, I have had neither. Yes, the hostel is a place to sleep, but hardly a place to settle, and while I have met friendly people, I simply do not know them well enough. I suppose there is a spiritual element to all of this as well; to feel at home is to be at peace with God. But lately, God and I have grown apart, mainly due to my increasing worry, and failing trust, as to where I will be sleeping in the next months.

I knew God was reassuring me when shortly after finishing the last blog, the four PhD students from the UK came back to the room and wanted to socialize. We swapped stories of our childhoods, stories of pranks and siblings (most often pranks on siblings), each of which were culturally unique depending on our origin. I, of course, am from the Midwest, while Jen, the other American, goes to school in the South. Chris was from Britain, Catherine was from Ireland, and Eleanor was from Scotland. We were quite the diverse group of English speakers. As many know, I often like to speak with accents, particularly British, and so it was all I could do to resist trying one and looking like an idiot.

Saturday morning they were kind enough to invite me with them, since I was unable to go to the mission, and we traveled to a few sites in Rome via the metro. It was odd walking slowly and taking my time and socialize, since previously I have always been so focused on getting from Point A to Point B or just looking around silently. After looking at the famous Bernini carving of the Ecstasy of St. Teresa, we met with Ivan, Eleanor’s Italian friend, who took to a wonderful restaurant in an old abbey near the Pantheon. Since I was to look at a room there later that evening, I took note of my surroundings and was overwhelmed by the number of tourists that clogged the streets. I was relieved when we entered the restaurant in an old abbey where it was quiet and not so congested.

After a fabulous baguette and warm conversation, I departed while they went to the catacombs. I wanted to go too, but had a housing appointment across town. I should have gone with them. The room, which was in an Italian bed and breakfast, was overpriced and without use of a kitchen or internet. Also, amidst all of the Italian, I picked out the word “mafia” a few times, and determined it was in my best interest to decline the offer. Leaving in a hurry, I quickly revisited the hostel, moving my luggage into a different room, the only one open when I booked it the day before. Then with haste, I made way over to the Pantheon again to make my 7pm appointment with my anticipated potential room. I wanted to hurry especially because my UK friends wanted to meet me at 9:30pm for a tour and bar crawl. Since I do not drink, I knew it would be a waste of money, but I wanted to go dancing with them. Sticking to the narrow streets to avoid the large crowds, I passed many interesting places, including an old library which I plan to revisit.

The room, however, I do not plan to revisit. I just had a bad vibe the entire time I was searching. First, the Italian lady seemed a bit batty and was very particular about where I could go in the house, and at what times. Second, the room was very small and the view was awful. Third, she wanted me to lay down a 1500 Euro deposit (yeah, right), and lastly, the crowds that surrounded the entire area annoyed me greatly. I left with a heavy heart and an empty stomach, bummed that the room I had hoped for was far from such.

After grabbing a quick bite to eat, I got lost, again, and knew I was not going to make it the pick-up point at 9:30pm. I had almost reached my breaking point in frustration, upset that I lacked a room, internet and a phone and tormented by the fact that my only hope to let it all go was departing for their tour as I arrived at the hostel, exhausted from an utterly pointless day of searching for a room. With my heavy bag digging into my shoulder, I reached the first floor of the hostel and went to my separate room, doubting I would see them at all. If this sounds overly melodramatic, I only write that way to illustrate how much my self-pity and pessimism had warped me into depression.

Then once again, God reached out to me. Just before I went into my room, I saw Eleanor and Catherine coming out of there own. “Oh, I’m so glat ya didn’t make it. We’re so tired, we decited not to go. We’re aboot to have tea if you’d like to join us?” I could hardly believe it. After washing up a bit, I met them upstairs in the lounge. Turns out that “tea” is really Scottish for “dinner”; there was no actual tea at all, but I did not mind.

We eventually decided that we were not tired after all, and went out is search of a pub. They fully respected my decision not to drink, after I promised them that I could be quite crazy on the dance floor without it. We had a lot of fun, and I was assured that I just wasn’t some awkward, clingy fifth wheel. Throughout the night, I learned some new dances as well, including the Scottish Kaelie dance and some crazy German song where everyone slaps the floor. The Germans there could tell we were new at it, and we could tell that they had no problem putting their hands on the floor. We dubbed the disco room in the basement of the pub “The Catacombs” because it was incredibly hot and sweaty. We frequented the out-of-doors and shared many laughs. But we also shared some serious conversation too, about the future, purpose and where Jen could get a canolli. Though we returned to the hostel late, I had not felt that awake all day. However, I still forgot to set my alarm clock into the “on” position.

I woke up at 10:15am, missing breakfast and potentially missing the UK gang on there way to the train station, but sure enough, they were still at the hostel. At the station, each of us enjoyed a canolli before I bid them a due, warning them that I may except there invitation to visit Edinburgh or their university at Glasgow. Then, it was time for the phone call. Clutching my room rental information in my hand, I found the nearest public phone. I had made my decision… Busy. Busy. Phone is Not Operating. Out of Order. Phone is Not Operating. Please Try Again. Phone is Not Operating. Ugh. I ran from that batch of phones and found one that had perched itself alone in the center of the station. Ringtone. Ringtone. “Buon Giorno.” A bunch of slaughtered Italian. Flipping through my phrase book frantically, and like magic, opening to just the right page. “Questo pomeriggio? (This afternoon?)” Si. Grazie. Ciao. I hung up the phone, so completely relieved.

So I am happy to report that I write this from my new room and the eve of my first day or work. Just as everyone warned me, trying to find a place in Rome in a week was insanely stupid, and just as I had hoped, God pulled me through it all, along with my impatience and worry. Despite my distrust and doubt, I have been fortunate enough to have received a home once again. I’m exhausted. I think I’m going to get some rest.

Thank you for reading. God bless.

Homeless

THIS WAS WRITTEN LAST FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 21st

Four nights in Rome, and I am still writing this on a bed that I can not call my own. Though warm and comfortable as I sleep, the fact that it is surrounded by another seven beds in the hostel room has never really allowed me to settle in. My plan was for this to be the last night, but being that my search continues, I booked another instead.

I am far from grieving though. Yes, hostels are less secure and more expensive than a good rent, but the hostel where I am, the Alessandro Downtown is a fine residence. The rooms and bathrooms are clean, and while the free breakfasts and dinners are less than gourmet, they fill the stomachs. What I will miss most is the good social atmosphere. In my short stay, I have made numerous friends, including a young Spanish couple, a university group consisting of an American, a Brit, an Irish and a Scot, some Canadians, a German, a few other Americans, and the Italian and Czech receptionists. Though I have been invited out with them, I regrettably have been unable to do so. Excessive walking throughout the city combined with a slowly fading jet-lag has me consistently crashing before midnight.

I have determined that homelessness can be exhausting, especially when you are attempting to look for a home in location that is foreign linguistically, culturally and physically. For its first few days, my home search in the large city was without success. In fact, it took me until yesterday just to figure out how to search for a rented room in Rome. After searching some websites, I simply began to walk down the street looking for postings, and as I passed a newsstand, my brain finally triggered a promising thought. A minute later, I clutched a large paper with listings for hundreds of rentals, which conveniently sorted out categorically by price and location. Though it was published in Italian, I was able to pick up on all the necessary words. Therefore, I now know the words for bathroom, kitchen, rent… etc.

I have been fortunate enough to have the resources to do it. Without my internship at the embassy, I would have been without a computer, phone or Italian translator. However, attaining this position was quite the process. Arriving Tuesday afternoon in the rain, the embassy’s logistics manager and chauffeur drove me immediately and unexpectedly to the USUN mission. I was then introduced to everyone during a staff meeting, including Ambassador Vasquez, donned in nothing more than sweaty pants and a tee-shirt. Aware of my fatigue, my supervisor told me to go to the hostel and that we would venture to the main embassy the next morning. Unfortunately, I still had to wait a few more hours for the chauffeur, who was out driving others around. Sure enough, I spent the next day at the other embassy, finishing up necessary security processes. At the mission, it also got me my own wrap-around desk, complete with a phone and computer. Without these necessities, I never will be able to find a room.

Sifting through the hundreds of listings in the paper, I gathered my list of potential living arrangements. I attempted to make a few phone calls, but quickly realized that I required help. Two Italian speakers at the mission were kind enough to help, pointing out translations I overlooked (“for girls only”) and calling up potential buyers. Originally, I was looking for my own little place, a monolocale, but no one wanted a renter for only three months. There was typically a one-year minimum contact. I visited one, and it was cluttered with junk and lacked a bed. I was assured that it would all be cleaned up. “When?” I asked legitimately. “Only a few weeks.” “Arrivederci!”

After this experience, I just started looking for room rentals. I have already looked at two of these, and they were quite nice. Both reasonably priced, both with older women, both providing with my own room and bathroom and use of kitchen. The main difference between them is that one was quite a ways out of town while the other is a few blocks north of the Vatican. Tomorrow I look at two more, one at a B&B and another near the Pantheon. If the latter is adequate, it would be a great find, since it is in the very center of the city. Though I should not get ahead of myself, I am quite excited about that one and hope I will be living in it Sunday.

Despite how sore my feet have become from all of this running around, I have still made time every evening to go for an extensive walk. Rome is huge, but certainly walkable. I get lost frequently and end up in the most amazing locations, some widely known and other not. My walks have taken me to the Coliseum, St. Peter’s Square, the Monument of Vittorio Emmanuel II as well as numerous adorned basilicas and small cobblestone roads that remain free of crowds. Even though going to look at rooms in different neighborhoods has been draining, I must admit that it has given me an understanding and appreciation for the layout of Rome and its transportation systems. This will surely benefit me as I continue to explore this enchanting metropolis.

Well, it is now very late, and I am quite exhausted. This is as late as I been up so far this week; maybe I have overcome my jet-lag after all. Thank you all for your support and prayers. Let’s hope that something turns up! God Bless!

Airport Reflections

Dear Beloved Readers,

Welcome back. After five weeks hiatus, I am at it again. I write this from the Detroit McNamara airport during the last hour that I spend in the United States in 2007. It is strange to be here again, waiting for another flight. Its seems like Rwanda was a year away.

This is probably because I have been so busy; I lied when I called it a hiatus. I worked two jobs as a lifeguard and a busboy, while trying to find time to spend with my family, local friends and Joye. This included a day trip to Cedar Point, camping at a local state park and going out to eat at my favorite restaurants. I also went down to lovely Alma College to catch up with professors and my college friends. Though this kept me busy, especially since I was constantly preparing for Rome, it was a warm welcome back home.

But soon after catching up, it was time to depart again, though I found this significantly easier than before. This may be because I am getting used to it, or perhaps because, especially with my college friends, it was hardly as if I had been there at all. With my loved ones, using webcams to periodically communicate and the promise of seeing them all in December makes for gentle separation as well. However, I also suspect that it was less difficult because, until now, my brain had yet to fully accept the reality of this internship and the fact that I was living on my own in an enchanting foreign city.

I have always wanted to go to Rome, the Eternal City, and I hope it treats me well. A thousand plus years of history lies dormant underneath every street, and it is up to me to awaken it from its slumber. I long to taste its food and bask in its autumn heat, though I doubt I will experience such this week due to a couple major setbacks. Aside from my inability to speak Italian, I also have no long-term residence. After hearing stories of internet scams and noticing that ninety percent of internet sales have no accompanying pictures, I decided to arrive in Rome a week before my internship to search for an apartment. The State Department assured me that this was a good idea, though I naturally have my reservations. Reservations at a hostel, that is, for the first four days, at least. Though anxious to find a home, I truly trust that God will provide me a shelter.

In fact, I really do not know much about what lies ahead, and my faith has certainly been my backbone as of late. I know where I will be working, the U.S. Mission to the U.N. Agencies for Agriculture (USUN) in Rome, though I have little ideas of what my day-to-day duties will be. I know who I will be working with, and that they have offered to help me find an apartment, but I have little idea of what they are like or if they will keep their word. And I know that I will have a ride from the airport to my hostel by a gentleman named Franco, but I will struggle to find my way around the city afterward. But I do know that the Lord God is my Savior and Refuge, that He will protect me and comfort me, even in the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and therefore, I refuse to be afraid. That is what makes this experience an enjoyable adventure.

Well, my flight is finally boarding; we have already been delayed quite a bit. I probably should tend to the men’s room one last time. By the time I am able to post this, I will either be in Amsterdam or Rome. Please keep me in your prayers. I will leave you with this: the lyrics to the song that God and I wrote in Rwanda. I think its my favorite.


Les Collins Milles
Written Through: James E. Allen IV

Verse 1:
Poor Rwanda, how long will the past seem to haunt ya,
When everywhere you look you’re told never again,
Will you forget what happened back then?

Sad Rwanda, do you wonder if God ever found ya?
Or do you wonder if God’s like the rest of the world,
And He turned his back on you? Turned his back on you…

CHORUS:
Les Collins Milles*
The Land of a Thousand Hills
All clotted with blood
All eroding in floods of the rain
Les Collins Milles
Rwanda, there’s always hope still
Imana** be praised
Let the broken be raised from their pain

Verse 2:
Distant neighbors, is it difficult to share the same Savior,
When one heals from sorrow and the other from guilt,
In a town still being rebuilt?

Broken Christians, do you doubt if the Lord ever listens,
When you were raped in the church where your family died,
And now you’re not far behind? No now you’re not far behind…

Bridge 1:
Tears and fears mix like dust on the skin,
It can be engrained, but will never sink in,
Where it can’t be washed away,
Like our sins, be washed away…

CHORUS

And you’ve begun to forgive,
Just as Jesus did,
Before He yelled,
“My God, my God”…

Verse 3:
Fallen people, we’ve gathered now under the steeple,
And we fall on our knees, and pray God if you’d please,
Let good come out of this wrong.

So Cain and Abel, God’s asked us to share the same table,
We’ve been swindled by sin, but are still welcomed in,
To His fortified stronghold where death never wins.

Bridge 2:
So can you trust in the Lord when your world falls apart,
When humanity’s brokenness breaks your own heart?
Can you rise up this new day?
The risen Sun brings a new day… for…

CHORUS x 2

Amen.

* This French phrase is purposely grammatically incorrect in order to complete the rhyme. The proper order, “Les Milles Collins”, means “A Thousand Hills” and also refers to the true name of the hotel in the movie Hotel Rwanda.
** The word “Imana” means God in Kinyarwanda, the native and most widely spoken language in Rwanda.

God bless and thank you for reading!