More New Neighbors

My neighbor, Marie Monique’s, teeth hurt. She stands at the window and puts her hand at her check and shuts her eyes and squinches her face to show me that her teeth hurt. The people who live next door to me obviously aren’t doing anything about it. I asked her, “Doctor?” and she shook her head no. So through the iron outer gate, she opened the door and I gave her a little bottle of Advil, explaining in my bad French, 2 every 4 hours, no more than 6 in one day.

Then she introduced me to my other neighbor. I had no idea that right next to me on the other side is another Malagasy woman named Lala. Actually the entrance to her building is different from mine. But if I stick my body partly out the window, I can hand her stuff. She speaks some English.

I gave her a kid’s school book to practice from. I called Aimee, the woman in charge of the Malagasy church, and handed Lala the phone. She was beaming. Lala’s sister lives in Saida (a city about 1 ½ hours south of Beirut). But she has never seen her. She never gets to leave the house. And she always has her ears perked, to listen if the madame is coming. She gets very nervous when we talk, and once she just left. I’ve only talked to her twice.

Then I met the woman who lives two floors down from me. She’s Ethiopian. We were yelling in Arabic, so there was a lot of room for miscommunication. She’s also locked in the house, and has been for two years. She said, “Ba3rif. Haram.” (I know. Poor me.) And shrugged her shoulder, with a sad look in her eyes, but a smile on her face. I didn’t understand her smile, as if she were looking on the bright side. . .

Then I went inside to the hallway and talked to Marie Monique. And then we prayed. We hold hands through the iron gate, and we each pray in our own language. Those of you who read my blog and believe in prayer, please pray for these women—a lot.