the people I met -- a lunar landing, a footprint on an alien star

This is a very long post, but I don't see any other way. I have to describe in detail or not at all. At least on the topic of people.

Mr. Helms wanted me to borrow The Alphabet of Grace by Frederick Buechner while I was in Russia. It's very good. I've really been able to identify with a lot of what Buechner has said so far. I really like what he says here:

"Silence between people, strangers sitting beside each other on a train or at night or taking shelter under the same awning in a rainstorm. Two lives hidden behind faces, divided by fathoms of empty space, wrapped round in silence which one of them breaks then with maybe some word that in one way or another means Know me, Know me, clack-clack, and something that never was before comes into being as the other replies and something is made manifest -- a lunar landing, a footprint on an alien star."

I wanted to tell you about three people I met on the way to Moscow.

People love talking about themselves. Yeah, profound, right? It's true though, and I guess I've always known this. People love talking about what they are passionate about. I do the same thing as well, but on my way to Moscow I was the listener mostly, not so much the talker. It felt wonderful too. People opening up to me freely, answering my questions, telling me about their lives.

So, these are the people I met.

MATT PARRIE from Cherokee County, GA

On the way from Atlanta to Frankfurt, the man who sat next to me was an army soldier. He had no carry-on bag, but maybe a jacket though. Matt loves talking and told me so when he met me. "Sometimes my buddies turn to me and say, 'Dude, shut up,'" he said with a smile. He especially loves talking about the military. He loves the army; if he's not in uniform, he wears similar colors -- beige, brown, tan. He still looks like a soldier even in civilian clothes because of his drab clothing and lack of hair.

Politically, he is apathetic. He doesn't care about the president and doesn't think the government cares much about the military either. He was sent to Germany for three years at a base, so that was why he was going to Frankfurt. Matt was really excited about the free beer on Lufthansa airlines. I said, "Then you're probably going to the right country," but he said that he drinks only occasionally, unlike most of his buddies. Matt dips sometimes, and he asked if it bothered me. I said he could do whatever he wanted, and it would be fine with me. His dip smelled pretty good, not much different than Altoids. He'd spit in his bottle and say, "I'm grossing myself out doing this." Matt got dirty looks from the old Indian women sitting around us. He doesn't seem to be addicted though. He can choose to go months without smoking, dipping, or drinking, and he doesn't have an overpowering need for it all. We talked about the "addiction gene" and how he probably didn't have it then.

Matt has no passport. His army tags that hang around his neck provide him everything he needs: access to countries, food anywhere, a place to sleep (even in an airport). Matt showed me his army tags; he pointed out on his tag his social security number (what trust!) and his religion (Christian-Methodist). I asked him when he became a Christian. I realize now that that is a dumb question -- a question I will never ask anybody again. It is a meaningless question. I should have asked, "Why did you become a Christian?" That maybe would have gotten somewhere important. He asked me if I was a Christian. "I saw your ring," he said. (Thanks, Mom & Dad!) I said yes, and he told me about his spiritual life. He says that he's one of five guys in his unit of, I think, 60 people that go to church on Sundays. About half of the people that do go to church go because sergeants aren't allowed (they have to go to a separate service). That way they can sleep without being badgered by their sergeants.

He's going to live in Germany for the next three years if he's not sent to Iraq, which he says is probable, but he says the men in charge keep going back and forth about who's going where and when. On the bus that took us from the plane to the terminal, people thought we were "together" because we were talking freely and casually, as if we were friends. There was one family on the bus from Hartwell, Georgia. They were really excited when they found out I was from TFC. The father asked about Gate Cottage. "I heard one of your buildings burned down. How horrible!" Here we are talking about Gate Cottage in Frankfurt, Germany. It is a small world, but then again, the plane did come from Georgia. ;) I think they were Mennonite, and they were visiting missionary friends in Poland.

"Are you guys both staying in Germany?" he asked. He thought we were friends/dating/married.

"Oh, no. I'm going to Russia. Matt's in the army. We met on the plane," I said to clear up any misconceptions.

When we went into the terminal, we said goodbye. What do you say to someone you never see again? I just spent the last nine hours with him. Granted, he slept some, but we talked about important stuff. I know his life history -- saved at 13, screwed around until his faith was renewed at 19, married at 21, had a baby named Ryker at 22 who is now four, divorced at 22, and has a his fiancee named Lauren who is 22. I know Matt; now, he is gone, and I'll never seen him again, except in my memory.

"Good talkin' to ya. Best of luck," he said.

RAMAZAN ARABA from Turkey/Texas

During my layover, I was the minority. Everyone around me was Indian, waiting for the plane to go to Hyderabad. I had never heard of the city, but I assumed it was in India. I decided to ask though. One girl said, "This plane is going to India. I think you are in the wrong place." I told her that I was waiting for the next plane, but I soon discovered I was waiting for the plane after the next plane.

During my layover, I met Ramazan. There wasn't much space in the seating area at my gate, but there was a free seat next to him. "Can I sit here?"

"Certainly, certainly. Of course." Our conversation officially began when I asked him for the time. (Cell phones are useless as watches when there is no signal.)

Ramazan is an older man in his 60s. He was waiting for the next plane. I was waiting for the one after his. "My father is very sick, so I am going back to Istanbul to see him and my mother," he explained. "I haven't seen them in six years." Ramazan wanted someone to talk to, and so did I. More than wanting to talk, he wanted someone to listen. So, I listened to him, holding my bag and passport tightly so I wouldn't be deceived just in case he did turn out to be a sneaky thief. He wasn't. Ramazan is moral and upright. He believes strongly in acting with integrity. I didn't know how to talk to him. In his culture, the teacher is the authority. When he found out I was going to be a teacher, he pontificated endlessly to me (he almost missed his flight because of me). Having taught in Turkey and America, he knew the differences between the educational philosophies of the two nations. A brilliant mathematician himself, he taught physics in Turkey, and then he taught math in the Texas public schools for a few years until he could no longer handle the discipline issues. He disagrees with America's educational philosophy. "If you teach in Turkey, the student stands up when you enter the room. They do not speak unless you tell them to speak. The teacher has control. In America, they do not care. The student does not respect." Eventually, he quit teaching high school. Now he works at Verizon, but he teaches physics and math part-time at a local college.

I could hardly say a word except when he asked me a question, and he did -- he asked me many questions about my family and my plans. He spoke in his Turkish accent, making the syllables sharp and short. "You going to be a teacher? Let me tell you something. Listen to this. Teaching is a holy job. You hear? Teaching is a holy job. It is God's job. I am Muslim, but I don't care what religion you are. If you are a religionous person, you cannot be a bad person. The main religions -- Islam, Christianity, Judaism, if you are religionous, you cannot be evil. In Islam, to study is the highest calling. It is our duty. To study, to respect, that is what is right. But if you are religionous, you can do this too."

I didn't know what to say. I don't think I was supposed to say anything. How would it look to him for a 22-year-old nobody-girl who doesn't speak but one language (something he strongly reprimanded me for) address his beliefs? How would he perceive it? He would have said, "You are a typical American. You question your teacher. You disrespect your elders. How dare you!" I think I made the right decision. I didn't say anything. Nothing I could have said would have changed his dogmatic beliefs. My age alone automatically hinders me from having a valid opinion. So, I told him I was teaching at a Christian school to which he replied, "Oh? I applied to teach at Christian school too, but they would not let me because I am Muslim." When he left, he said, "Do you have paper?" I pulled out my journal to a blank page. He wrote down his name, his phone number, and his email address. "You email me a picture of Russia, but tell me who you are because I will forget." I smiled and said okay.

I told him that I would pray for his father, and I will.

JORGE ALVAREZ from Spain/U.K.

On the flight from Frankfurt to Moscow, I was seated next to a beautiful Spanish man from England. Dark brown hair, a light olive skin tone, very thin. He wore a black t-shirt and jeans with a chain from his front pocket to his back pocket. He had his head buried in a book the size of plane itself. The book was in English, so I knew he was fluent. He did not seem up for talking which was fine because I was tired. I asked if could put my backpack in the seat between us. He mumbled something I didn't understand. His accent was remarkably thick. I said,"I'm sorry, what?"

"I say I weell do the same," he smiled and pointed to the seat in between us. I finally understood. Then he laid his book there when he decided to close his eyes for a few minutes. Later the flight attendant began passing out Russian migration cards. I started to fill mine out -- passport number, visa number, first name, patronymic name, surname, date of entry, date of departure, etc. He did not though. I assumed it was because he didn't have a pen on him; so, I handed mine to him, and he thanked me and began filling out his card.

A flight attendant began to speak in German on the intercom. I heard "-6 Celsius" and something similar to Moscow. Jorge shuddered. It was the kind of shudder you could make a comment on. It was a big shudder, if you will.

"Is that bad? I'm used to Fahrenheit." I asked. I knew it was below freezing, but I couldn't remember by how much at least in Fahrenheit terms.

"Yes, eet is very cold."

Then he felt more talkative. He asked me where I was from. I suppose he should have known where I was from. The U.S. is the one the few countries that uses Fahrenheit. I said America. He seemed shocked to meet an American for some reason. "Amereeca??? Really?" Then he told me he was from Spain, but living in the U.K. "I leeve in Mahncesster."

"Mahncesster?" I thought he was trying to say "I live with my sister."

"Yes, yes. Mahn-chest-er." When he enunciated the middle syllable, I heard a faint ch sound.

"Oh, Manchester!" I said, finally realizing. I emphasized the a sound in "man" and the ch "chester."

"Yes, you have uh differeent acceent from us. An Amereecan acceent. Where een Amereeca are you from? I have never been to U.S. before." He seemed very curious.

"I am from the south -- in Georgia."

"Ah, so eet is very warm there. And you are going to Moscow why?" I explained to him that I was student teaching in Russia. He said, "Then you must know Russian very well." I laughed, said no, and then described the type of school I am teaching in. Then we talked about the different letters used in the Cyrillic alphabet.

He asked what my name was, but he couldn't pronounce it. Nobody can say my name correctly. It is usually Merrada or Merradeet. He said, "My name is Jorge." I told him my grandfather's name was George. He said, "Ah, but it is spelled differently, no?" He showed me on his migration card -- "Jorge Alvarez."

Jorge was going to Moscow on business. He works at a growing computer company in England, and they have branches in several European countries. So, Jorge is sent to all these countries to install techy things. He's been to Moscow four times on business. I told him, "Maybe someday you'll get to go to America on business." He said that he wanted to very much.

When the plane landed, Jorge walked with me to passport control, leading the way. I felt safe being with someone who knew English and had gone through Russian passport control several times before. Seeming to be rather chivalrous, he asked to carry my bag, but I said no. We went to the baggage claim. He and I were both ready to go and meet our respective "greeters" at the central pick-up area.

What do you say to someone you'll never see again? I know, I know. I hardly know the guy. I hardly knew any of the people I met. I guess I'm just emotional, but I take it all so very seriously. I mean, they are people. He said, "Well......I must go. I weesh you all thee best." It was very sad. I don't know why, but it was. Even though I wasn't close to him or didn't have a significant conversation with him, it's just strange knowing you'll never see someone again. I feel the same way about students at TFC. Some of them I don't know their names, but I have seen their faces for the past year, two years, three years, four years. When I graduate, I won't see them again. There's something sad about that. Maybe it goes back to the fact that eternity is written on our hearts. We should not have to say goodbye to someone.

Even though I said goodbye, "something that never was before" came into being and something was made manifest -- like Buechner says, "a lunar landing, a footpring on an alien star." And even though I said goodbye to three people on Wednesday, I said hello to many new people on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday -- Jeff, Phil, Luke, Anna, Christiana, Anya, Nickolai, Dasha, and Polina, and that story I will save for next time! :)

Much Love,
Meredith