Overlander and the Ovaltine

One of my writing classes requires me to write about a personal experience of my choosing and then to rewrite it every week. This is one of my more recent rewrites and one of my funniest mission memories.

       We trudged through the snow, slogging our boots through the heavy slush, laughing cheerfully, and looking for the tale-tell signs of a Karen-occupied house. I don’t know how other language missionaries knew where to find people, but in Karenland, there were some pretty good giveaways. Besides the obvious Karen flag, there were things like fishing rods or bicycles leaning up against the house, multi-colored curtains (or blankets) hanging in the windows, either no car in the driveway or a very old one, and, most indicative of all, red betel nut juice splatters on the front steps and giant, oversaturated, very photoshopped posters of babies or nature scenes. I think every Karen house had at least one of those posters.

We knocked at a house that had all of the qualifications and then some. A cheerful, wrinkled man came shuffling to the door of the home where he, his wife, and their lively grandchildren resided.

Oh my goodness! I have to tell Chris about this!

 He was wearing, not the traditional Karen skirt, but a fluffy, pink-and-white, polka-dotted bathrobe with one pink slipper. We tried to suppress our giggles as he invited us into the room. Stepping inside, we were transported to another reality. Karen homes often have multi-colored Thai mats on the floor and one or two of the giant posters. This house was wallpapered in them. Floor to ceiling, wall to wall, it was a kaleidoscope of colors and images and visual noise.

This is going to be great! I can’t wait to describe this to Chris. I wonder if we can get a picture with them before we leave. Hmmm . . .

Overlander (the man who had let us in) invited us to sit down and asked if we would like some tea. I glanced behind us and in the middle of this cultural jungle was an ordinary china cabinet with a full-service tea set. It was so out of place that I couldn’t help but grin and came close to laughing out loud. This was unusual. Karen people never had china dishes or tea sets, let alone a whole set!

Dear Elder Chris,

How do you explain to an elderly Karen couple that you don’t drink tea? I guess that is part of the lessons, but we haven’t gotten that far with our vocab words yet!

Fortunately, Overlander spoke very good English. British English, actually. He had no problem with us not drinking tea and insisted that we have some Ovaltine instead. In the tea cups. With saucers. Only then could we proceed to the lesson. We acquiesced, bemused.

I’ve never been served Ovaltine in a tea cup before. Come to think of it, I’ve never had a conversation with a man in his bathrobe and slippers before either. Or met a Karen person who speaks British English. Or been in a house with this much color. Or . . . any of this before, really. All new experiences! I’m trying so hard not to laugh, but it’s really hard not to when I look down and see his pink slippers and then I look back up and the Ovaltinepot is passing by again. Oooo! I’m going to crack, I know it! I can’t look my companions in the eyes either because I know they’re about to break too!

Just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, Overlander insisted on bringing out his violin to play for us. Bent over, he shuffled into a back room, returning with a cracked and peeling violin case and music that had once been bound together. Sitting back down at the table, he opened the case and explained to us that he had bought the violin when he was a boy in Burma. Once he laid the violin out on the table, he slowly looked through his available music, stray papers periodically dropping to the floor as he tried to determine what to play for us.

My sides are aching with suppressed laughter! I don’t even know where I am! I know I’m supposedly in wintery Minnesota, but in this tropically-temperatured house with Britishly-cultured Thai people, I’m losing all sense of American normality!

            Overlander selected a piece and started in with fragile gusto. His bow squeaked and squealed over the strings of the violin, sounding something akin to a strangled cat.

            Ahahahaha! I’m dying! This is the best lesson I’ve ever had! Oh! If only you were here to hear this!

            The final straw was when, partway through playing, Overlander stopped short, decided that it wasn’t the piece that he wanted to play for us, and selected a new one. This time, the violin screeched out the strains of “The Wedding March.”

            We didn’t make it to the car before we were crying with laughter. This was definitely making it into my next letter to Chris.