047. this is the longest goodbye i’ve ever seen

recommended listening: goodbye, by this train

Cherry and apple petals drift past the window. Birds chirp. Sheep go by in the street. All of which makes it difficult to take seriously the speakers at the conference on TCK’s (third-culture kids), and the parents who so urgently discuss universal concerns like, “Keeping our kids away from bad kids”, and “How much TV is OK?” It could be a suburban Midwestern community group, except for the details. For instance, the ancient pagan belief in three genders—men, women, and boys—and the resulting astronomical rate of homosexual pedophilia may mean that your sons are in more danger than your daughters.

And there’s the keynote session on e-bags. E-bags are the carry-on-bag-sized answer to the question, “If you had to leave everything behind immediately and go for an unknown time into an unknown area with a wife and two toddlers, what would you take?”

The weather’s turned beautiful lately: terrorist weather. Several days ago, an embassy friend said, “It’s when, not if.”

I’m stepping down from the podium at the national teacher’s conference when Jamie hands me her cell phone. “It’s Lauren.”

“An embassy had a bomber and a shooting. I don’t know which one. There are reports of shooting by or in one of the bazaars. Roads across the city are closed.”

Start with the bag. Samsonite and American Traveler don’t blend. Pick up something from the bazaar. Light, durable are nice, local is essential. Two feet by two feet by six inches. Two liters of water. Flashlight. First aid. Knife. Copies of passports, visas, marriage license. Dried fruit. Diapers. Keep it small because local airlines have been known to sell standing-room-only tickets.

I hang up the phone and tell the conference organizer. The American and British embassy reps are talking on their cell phones, being hustled out the door by men in suits. “I’ve got to go. You’ll need to find someone else to moderate my sessions.” The conference organizer nods and makes the gesture of calling down God’s blessings. “If God wills.”

The roads aren’t blocked. People aren’t swarming. There aren’t more police than usual, except for those guys with machine guns on the roof by one intersection.

 “Daddy, you’re home! Look what I made for you. It’s a card. See, here it says, ‘Dad’, and I wrote that myself, and this sticker says, ‘love’.’”

“Hey, Ella. I really like the card. Just a minute, though, OK? I need to talk with Jan and make a quick phone call. OK?”

“Daddy, daddy! Batman is riding the horse and the dinosaur will get them. Aaargh.”

“Looks great, Caleb. Just a minute.”

“Hello? How are things at the school? Good? Ok. Have you heard the news? Good. I’m glad you know. Do you think we should close the school? No? Why not? Ah, yes. I understand. You’re right. As long as the Americans aren’t there, it’s probably safe for you. Feel free to leave early if you think the trains will be closed, OK?”

About half an hour later, Lauren gets home. It’s three more hours before we’ve located all of our teammates.

One channel shows old cartoons and another shows images of flowers and mountains, accompanied by traditional music. Our friends who have cable say that all international news programs have been blocked. 

The e-bag needs a good guidebook: one with road maps for surrounding countries, phrase guides for local languages that you haven’t studied, and things like that. Pack one comfort item for each child. Sun block. Credit cards, in case you get to an area with credit cards. Scarves or skull caps in case you end up in an area without credit cards.

In the e-bag session at the conference, one woman asked, “What if there’s no place to evacuate to?” Everyone looked slightly embarrassed. If you need an answer to a question like that, you shouldn’t have come.

“Why are you packing that, Daddy? Are we going on a trip?”

“Probably not, but do you remember that movie with the woman and all of the kids who sang?”

“All the nuns?”

“Yeah. Well, we might go on a trip like that.”

“Can I ride on your back if we go over the mountains? And Caleb can ride on Mommy’s back? And you can carry that bag?”

“We’ll see. But we probably will stay here.”

“OK.”

We read books and play games. We stay inside. After the kids go to sleep, we pray for a while. Then we go to bed.

A little later, morning comes again. I head to the taxi stand for news.

At least five hundred were massacred in the streets a few hours away. Some reports are saying a thousand or more dead. The government’s blaming terrorism. Videos on the Web show military helicopters and armored personnel carriers. They show soldiers firing machine guns at women and children who are running away with their hands in the air.  

Political scientists have been saying this country’s ripe. It’s now. The bag’s ready. Reports are, it’s spreading to neighboring towns.

Tickets? Well, yeah, we’ll get looking.

But how can we leave now? It’s just getting good! The men are finally coming! It’s taken sixteen months to get men to talk to me, and now….

How likely is it to spread?

Reports are they’re coming this way. Thank God for bad highways.