INDIAN SUITCASE

 

(a fictionalized account, in order to make a point, and introduce the lingo)

 

“Whatcha got dere?” asked Rien, gesturing towards Bobby’s lunch. 

“Oh, just some ol’ Indian steak, that’s all,” replied Bobby.

“What in the wurrld is Indian steak?” asked Rien.

“Oh, hee hee, just some ol’ fried baloney, that’s all,” said Bobby. “Only this is cold.” All three trainees chuckled.  “That’s what we call it- closest us ol’ Indians get to real steak, hah!”

“And by the way,” put in Philip, “Why do Indians have high cheekbones?”

“Don’t have no idea.  Why?”

“From sitting like this,” Philip rested his elbows on the table, with his hands on his cheeks, ”Waiting for the cheque.” A chorus of guffaws and chuckles followed this.

“You guys don’t t’ink much of yourselves, do you?” asked Rien.” Well, you won’t be sittin’ around waiting for no cheque when we get done here!  And I’ve eaten a heck of a lot of “Indian steak” myself.”

 

Tears came to Rien’s eyes. Dear Lord, help me to show dem dey can do anyt’ing they set their minds to.  Show dem what a beautiful people dey are, and how much You love dem.

 

“So, are we going fishing tomorrow?” asked Philip.

“Ja. Let’s do daht,” said Rien.

“Well, don’t forget to bring your Indian suitcase, then.”

“And what is daht, may I ask?”

“An ol’ green garbage bag.” Another chorus of titters all around.

 

                                                                                                                                                                                              For you created my innermost being; 

you knit me together in my mother’s womb.

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;

your works are wonderful,…(Psalm 139: 13, 14 NIV)