Tonight’s Plan: Teach Kavita and Danny’s Family
This is the home of “The Biter”
Tonight we unwittingly, we became witnesses to and accomplishes of the demise of Chicken Little.
Approaching Kavita’s house in the dark, we are greeted by the “Cooks” (who obviously had drunk the cooking wine), and who introduced us to “Chicken Little.” Chicken Little was not at her best tonight; She lay in a dishpan, complete with feathers; but not life. The ‘barbeque grill’ was prepared and the very happy cooks eyed the hot coals AND the body of Chicken Little.
Escaping up the stairs to the house, I see The Biter. She runs at me with a full body hit. Was it meant to greet me, or stun me? I was prepared for either with a basket of defense items:
(coloring pages, crayons, cookies, paper,) Realizing that I am stunned, but not defeated, She lunges for the basket. Jumping high, she secures the edge of it, (like a pro basket ball player), and clings to the rim! I know when to stall and when to deliver. I deliver. Soon every page is out of the color book, as is everything in the basket. She is looking for ‘more’, more of anything.
Seeking for an opening, I drop to the floor to join Kavita and friends in a game of rocks: “Batu Serenban” The Biter is undeterred. Within minutes she has a new strategy: Kittens. Scrawny, terrified kittens, also hiding from the biter. They are taken from a box in the corner and she
drags their outstretched claws down my back and through my hair, as she growls in behalf of them! She also engages additional troops: A little boy begins to climb on my back and grab for my glasses. Blind the enemy is a tried and true strategy.
I look desperately for Elder McKellar. He has come to teach a Gospel lesson, but is in competition with loud, throbbing music, as the house fills with half drunk men: neighbors and friends of Danny. It becomes obvious that no lesson will be given until all have been fed.
Meanwhile, Where is Chicken Little? She passes from the outside through the living room on her way to the kitchen. Somewhat later, I glance into the kitchen. Chicken Little no longer has to worry about the sky falling: she is being chopped!
9:30 p.m., the men triumphantly enter with Chicken Little on a platter. Dad is to offer prayer.
So much needed, but who to listen? who to hear? what to say? Truth be known, they wish us to begin with AMen! All eyes are on the food. Chicken Little joins the menu with roast pig and charred fish and hot hot black chilies.
A man from the barbeque front begins to serve me. Nadai. Nadai. I protest. I have had enough. But this is a man with the Iban blood of headhunters still in his veins. Is he to be deterred by white woman? Swiftly, he turns and dumps me a plateful of noodles and chicken. He sits nearby to supervise that white woman eats all!!
Yes, we are to serve through wind and rain and sleet and snow, but did anyone mention smoke and claws and deafening music and glazed eyes?
Mercifully, missionaries have curfew. Time to shake 40 hands. Now sweaty and greased with Chicken Little and rice.
We look for our shoes. (40 others to sort through) Home. Water. Clean sheets and Prayer.
Good night and... My apologies to you, Chicken Little.
This is the home of “The Biter”
Tonight we unwittingly, we became witnesses to and accomplishes of the demise of Chicken Little.
Approaching Kavita’s house in the dark, we are greeted by the “Cooks” (who obviously had drunk the cooking wine), and who introduced us to “Chicken Little.” Chicken Little was not at her best tonight; She lay in a dishpan, complete with feathers; but not life. The ‘barbeque grill’ was prepared and the very happy cooks eyed the hot coals AND the body of Chicken Little.
Escaping up the stairs to the house, I see The Biter. She runs at me with a full body hit. Was it meant to greet me, or stun me? I was prepared for either with a basket of defense items:
(coloring pages, crayons, cookies, paper,) Realizing that I am stunned, but not defeated, She lunges for the basket. Jumping high, she secures the edge of it, (like a pro basket ball player), and clings to the rim! I know when to stall and when to deliver. I deliver. Soon every page is out of the color book, as is everything in the basket. She is looking for ‘more’, more of anything.
Seeking for an opening, I drop to the floor to join Kavita and friends in a game of rocks: “Batu Serenban” The Biter is undeterred. Within minutes she has a new strategy: Kittens. Scrawny, terrified kittens, also hiding from the biter. They are taken from a box in the corner and she
drags their outstretched claws down my back and through my hair, as she growls in behalf of them! She also engages additional troops: A little boy begins to climb on my back and grab for my glasses. Blind the enemy is a tried and true strategy.
I look desperately for Elder McKellar. He has come to teach a Gospel lesson, but is in competition with loud, throbbing music, as the house fills with half drunk men: neighbors and friends of Danny. It becomes obvious that no lesson will be given until all have been fed.
Meanwhile, Where is Chicken Little? She passes from the outside through the living room on her way to the kitchen. Somewhat later, I glance into the kitchen. Chicken Little no longer has to worry about the sky falling: she is being chopped!
9:30 p.m., the men triumphantly enter with Chicken Little on a platter. Dad is to offer prayer.
So much needed, but who to listen? who to hear? what to say? Truth be known, they wish us to begin with AMen! All eyes are on the food. Chicken Little joins the menu with roast pig and charred fish and hot hot black chilies.
A man from the barbeque front begins to serve me. Nadai. Nadai. I protest. I have had enough. But this is a man with the Iban blood of headhunters still in his veins. Is he to be deterred by white woman? Swiftly, he turns and dumps me a plateful of noodles and chicken. He sits nearby to supervise that white woman eats all!!
Yes, we are to serve through wind and rain and sleet and snow, but did anyone mention smoke and claws and deafening music and glazed eyes?
Mercifully, missionaries have curfew. Time to shake 40 hands. Now sweaty and greased with Chicken Little and rice.
We look for our shoes. (40 others to sort through) Home. Water. Clean sheets and Prayer.
Good night and... My apologies to you, Chicken Little.
The Biter, surveying her next victim. Elder Kartchner got it on the back. Elder Hart got it on the bum!
The Head Hunters... er... Chefs... They are supporting one another as the cooking wine was very good!
Chicken Little. So sorry you couldn't see her WITH her feathers...
The Hunted... As yet unbitten... And hoping to survive one more Jungle Adventure!
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