Welcome, Neighbors!

A number of Afghan families are moving to Muncie in the wake of their escape from the Taliban takeover of their country. I don’t know the personal history of any of them, only that they were in trouble and running for their lives. In the urgency of their situations, most of them left with very little—from what I understand, some with nothing (not even shoes). I’m grateful that I can only imagine that kind of hardship (and hope I never live it).

I didn’t really welcome the request to stock a kitchen with groceries for a man and his pregnant wife. I saw it as just a time-consuming activity that needed to be done. But it did need to be done, and why not by us? Once we were at the store, though, selecting the jam and tomatoes, the chocolate bars and dried apricots, the spinach, the spices, it became a genuine pleasure. (As a vegetarian for three decades, I wasn’t thrilled about buying chicken, but that’s a separate, and entirely compartmentalized, issue.) I thought of this young couple sitting down to enjoy their first meal in their new home, the little apartment redolent of lentils and rice, dried apricots, cardamom, and cinnamon. Maybe Fudge Stripes cookies for dessert. (Will they get a bit of a kick out of the little Keebler elf on the package?) Hot tea and honey. It made me happy.

They’re pretty well set-up, I think. The thoroughness of the operation is impressive. My friends and neighbors really chipped in to make it work. And it was great to be part of it. The apartment isn’t new—there are scuffs here and there, and the carpet is somewhat worn—and the rooms are sparsely furnished, but this couple will have everything they need to start a new life: tables and chairs, a sofa, a microwave and range, cooking and eating utensils and dishes, a bed and a crib, a tool kit, cleaning supplies, an iron, pens and paper, tape and scissors. Two little knitted hats with animal ears, a teddy bear, a padded rocking chair in the baby’s room. Chocolate chip cookies.

And neighbors who hope for their happiness here.

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Indiana Is My Home

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The Importance of Being Normal