Dinusha’s digs

Again, sorry for the delay in updating. I’m going to try to be better about this from now on.

On Friday, Dinusha invited Jacqui and me to lunch at her family’s apartment. She and Kumar came by around noon, and we took a taxi over to Jabal Amman (I think), where her family lives. We were greeted by her mother, her sister and brother, and sundry cousins–Kumar isn’t related to them, but he’s a close friend.

Now, Dinusha’s family lives in a tiny, low-ceilinged, two-room basement apartment on a slummy street . Their bathroom consists of a curtained-off corner with a bucket and a hole in the floor. For all that they don’t have, however, their house pride would put anyone to shame: the apartment was lovingly decorated and spotlessly clean.

We walked into a bedroom/living room/dining room where a table was set with our lunch. In the center of the table was a plate piled with rice, into which were mixed shredded carrots and fried onions. Around it, four dishes: a dark, spicy chicken curry, a starchy vegetable concoction made with coconut powder, a sweet dish of fried eggplant and onion, and a plate of fried savory pastries that resembled egg rolls, all cooked by Dinusha (Naturally, I don’t know what any of these dishes are called. Dinusha named them, but I forgot). It was one of the most delicious meals I have ever eaten, and here I don’t exaggerate.

Afterward, we were served tea and shown family photo albums of weddings and babies. Throughout, I was struck speechless by the overwhelming generosity and hospitality that I was being shown. This family has nothing, and yet they give everything; they take no shame in their poverty, but cherish their every blessing. The family didn’t eat with us–which I found a little strange but didn’t ask about–but sat and watched us, demonstratively proud of their opportunity to entertain us. Clearly, there was some gratitude in this gesture; after all, Jacqui did help Dinusha and her sister considerably in their legal troubles, and most people in their situation do not find such willing advocates. For me, who had little to do with it, it was a bit uncomfortable to be the recipient of their kindness simply by association–then again, who knows, perhaps I did them a big favor just by showing up at the police station with them.

(Update: Mr. Wonderful is out of jail, apparently, but had to go back to court today to answer four counts against him, for which he will most likely go back to jail and then be deported. Now that he knows the kinds of friends they have, he has been leaving Dinusha and her family alone.)

I guess the point of this story is that if ever I should feel exempted from the responsibility to be kind and generous for a lack of means, I’ll think of Dinusha and refute myself; you should do the same.rsri