Trat
“What’s your name?” Trat keeps asking, and then repeats my name every few seconds, just to check, just to cement this connection with the foreigner sitting next to him on the green tarp.
He’s excited and excitable, tugging at his “Crow Sports” t-shirt, rubbing the back of his recently shaved head, fiddling with the Buddhist amulet around his neck. We are here on this hot Saturday morning with about thirty other kids and a handful of club staff and volunteers, hunkered down in a bit of shade near the cemetery slum where Trat lives for some songs, games, stories, and snacks.
Even so close to the old Chinese cemetery, signs of life abound: green, leafy trees which soften the glare of sun on hard red earth; an impressive pile of garbage which testifies to the community inside the cement cinder-block wall sprawled around the slum; blue jeans on the line; toothbrushes and toothpaste jammed into the crook of a light-post; and an adorable dimpled baby being passed from grandmother to aunt to sister to cousin…
Life’s a crowd here, and Trat is often lost in all the noise. He’s keeping half an eye on the story turning page by page in the hands of the club leader, but mostly he’s busy flipping and catching his 5 baht coin. Finally! He spots the ice cream vendor pulling up on a bike, and is off like a shot.
When he wanders back, I ask him a few questions. “Chocolate” seems to work its way in to many of his answers, and he’s also a big soccer fan. He’s lived here his whole life, with his parents and older brothers. His mother sells birds to people wanting to release them on the beach for good merit. His father works not far away, at a hotel in Pattaya, but if it’s glitzy, it is, in truth, a far cry from where they live. Trat wants to be a soldier when he grows up… see Thailand, serve the king, eat well and dress sharp.
Does Trat know Jesus? It’s hard for Trat to even hear this question, in all the kids’ club hubbub, and his eyes glaze over a bit. Finally he nods non-committally: “I’ve heard of him…” Jesus is the man he coloured a few minutes ago on a picture of Psalm 23. The guy taking care of fourteen sheep, which Trat and his friends garbed in international flags – the colours of Thailand, Brazil, Italy, Germany, and some other favourite soccer teams.
Maybe the boys aren’t far off; after all, Jesus is the good shepherd to sheep of all stripes. He’s more than heard of Trat, knows his penchant for chocolate and his future hopes; knows the shadow cast by the cemetery over his slum home.
Knows all the other shadows cast here, and walks beside Trat anyway.
He’s excited and excitable, tugging at his “Crow Sports” t-shirt, rubbing the back of his recently shaved head, fiddling with the Buddhist amulet around his neck. We are here on this hot Saturday morning with about thirty other kids and a handful of club staff and volunteers, hunkered down in a bit of shade near the cemetery slum where Trat lives for some songs, games, stories, and snacks.
Even so close to the old Chinese cemetery, signs of life abound: green, leafy trees which soften the glare of sun on hard red earth; an impressive pile of garbage which testifies to the community inside the cement cinder-block wall sprawled around the slum; blue jeans on the line; toothbrushes and toothpaste jammed into the crook of a light-post; and an adorable dimpled baby being passed from grandmother to aunt to sister to cousin…
Life’s a crowd here, and Trat is often lost in all the noise. He’s keeping half an eye on the story turning page by page in the hands of the club leader, but mostly he’s busy flipping and catching his 5 baht coin. Finally! He spots the ice cream vendor pulling up on a bike, and is off like a shot.
When he wanders back, I ask him a few questions. “Chocolate” seems to work its way in to many of his answers, and he’s also a big soccer fan. He’s lived here his whole life, with his parents and older brothers. His mother sells birds to people wanting to release them on the beach for good merit. His father works not far away, at a hotel in Pattaya, but if it’s glitzy, it is, in truth, a far cry from where they live. Trat wants to be a soldier when he grows up… see Thailand, serve the king, eat well and dress sharp.
Does Trat know Jesus? It’s hard for Trat to even hear this question, in all the kids’ club hubbub, and his eyes glaze over a bit. Finally he nods non-committally: “I’ve heard of him…” Jesus is the man he coloured a few minutes ago on a picture of Psalm 23. The guy taking care of fourteen sheep, which Trat and his friends garbed in international flags – the colours of Thailand, Brazil, Italy, Germany, and some other favourite soccer teams.
Maybe the boys aren’t far off; after all, Jesus is the good shepherd to sheep of all stripes. He’s more than heard of Trat, knows his penchant for chocolate and his future hopes; knows the shadow cast by the cemetery over his slum home.
Knows all the other shadows cast here, and walks beside Trat anyway.
posted by sparrow anne at
4:18 a.m.
1 Comments:
i love how you make Jesus so tangible and real. thank you.
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home