20. The First Mission Home
- L Rshaw
- Aug 19, 2019
- 7 min read
Updated: Apr 15, 2022
"To wake for the first time in a new place can be like another birth"
--- Rumer Godden (English Author; 1907 - 1998)
Traditionally, the "mission home" is where the missionaries of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints who help in the Mission Office (in addition to everything else) live; it was not where our Mission President and his wife lived (See "Mission Administration"). Additionally, it housed spare beds for incoming missionaries or for those who needed to stay the night who were far from their respective areas. It goes without saying that of the several hundreds of missions throughout the vast and far countries of the world, no two mission houses are alike. So when I speak of my experience with what used to be the mission home for the Reynosa, Mexico mission back in 2014, you'll understand that I'm only speaking for myself. It wasn't the mission home for much longer after I arrived anyway.
Click to Navigate (Table of Contents):
THE FIRST NIGHT'S SLEEP IN MEXICO
It was the evening of Monday, September 15, 2014: We'd arrived only a few hours before. I regret to say that being my first-night impression on Mexican soil, I was thoroughly disappointed (especially since we were sorely sleep-deprived because of our travel and we'd already lost an hour due to the change in time zone). We'd left around midnight the night before from Utah and traveled ALL day from Utah to Georgia to Mexico City before we finally got to Reynosa the next evening, and if you've flown, you know that it's not a comfortable thing to do all day, especially when running on about 4 hours of sleep. When we arrived, it was basically being rushed from the airport to the Mission Offices, and straight to the Mission Home to settle down for the night. No home-cooked meal. No nothing to reward the tiresome day. Introductions and orientation were for the next day.
I don't mind sharing the following story of disappointment since it's a thing of the past and the mission home mentioned is no longer in use. Life isn't all sunshine and daisies and butter mellow (Ten points to whoever gets that reference). I'd be lying if I wrote only about good times. I can't rewrite history and pretend that it was a pleasant experience. Nonetheless, it was part of the experience, the first paragraph of that chapter in my life.
Like most houses, this two-story house was surrounded by a heavy black metal fence and overrun foliage, but the brick was a change. Most houses were cinderblock. This particular place definitely had to have been a bargain to rent considering the low maintenance of it all. It was anything but inviting. At least one of the front windows was long broken as if something had been thrown through it and patched up with cardboard and duct tape. The floors were wooden and in need of a very good sweep; the dusty shoe prints that were tracked in were visibly evident. There were two small bathrooms between the near 20 of us, one on each floor. Let that nightmare sink in for a moment! The shower water converted the dust on the floor into mud. From there, muddy footprints were tracked all over the house. You can understand then why there was next to no carpet to be found in Mexico; most places had tile or concrete floors with rare wooden floors, like this place. The whole house felt like an oven in the late summer season. The only make-shift air conditioning we had was that of some dozen or more fans that were plugged into crowded electrical sockets across the house, or the ventilation from cracked windows; no matter the case, it just blew the warm air around because the air outside was only marginally cooler. As we settled for the night, each to his own, whichever bunkbed they managed to find, we could hear the calming chirp of the summer crickets.
The kitchen only had half-empty boxes of cereal with no crunch, bottles of yogurt, and a bit of bread with only condiments to put on it like mayo and mustard. Not that it would be much different anywhere else I went, this kitchen was really only stocked for the missionaries who lived there full-time, and not for guests, and certainly not so many as us. I couldn't even find many dishes or silverware. Despite being invited to help ourselves to whatever we could find, there was not much to find. I can't remember what I ate for dinner, I think it might have just been a cup of yogurt; what a difference from the all-you-can-eat meals in the MTC!
I don't remember a whole lot about the house other than my "bedroom". We weren't exactly given a "tour". We were welcome to explore, but as far as I'm concerned, there wasn't much to see and each room seemed too cramped to enter. There was a bedroom upstairs where most of the Office Elders slept. The front room where you entered the house was lobby-like, except that there was a piece of exercise equipment there; some kind of bench, weights, or bar for pull-ups, I don't remember. It was in that lobby that the patched-up broken window was. Center but around a small corner was the small bathroom with the toilet and filthy shower. If you walked straight from the front door, you'd be in the kitchen which had a backdoor. Walking into the house, my room was to the left. And there was another bedroom to the right.
I swear there were five to seven bunk beds to a bedroom, which had not much more than a sheet spread over it (not that we were gonna be cold). As a matter of fact, I think we kept the windows open for both air and the smell (I slept by the window). The whole edifice was crammed with stinky dirty young men who had traveled all day for a good night’s rest that we realized we were not gonna receive. There may have been a few blankets around the house, but I didn't bother to ask. Who knows where they'd been?
Because we'd left most of our things at the chapel for orientation the next day, we didn't have many belongings with us on hand. I think all I had was a change of clothes for the night and my journal. As such, I had to put on the same stinky clothes I'd worn all day the day before.
And realize that I don't know most of these people apart from the few guys from District D who were scattered in different rooms. Even though most of us new arrivals were Americans, we were with the office Elders that night and I couldn't understand most of what anyone was saying in Spanish. As a recent arrival, I thought it was strange that even among the other American Office Elders, they spoke in Spanish instead of English like they'd forgotten English. Unless you asked them to speak in English so you could understand, it probably wouldn't have crossed their mind. I felt so uncomfortable being crammed in with so many strangers in that hot room. What a difference from the two-person air-conditioned dorm rooms on West Campus!
Maybe I should be grateful we weren’t camping in the yard, even though it would have virtually been the same experience. I didn’t get too much sleep (whether because of discomfort or nervousness) and that which I managed wasn’t refreshing. I used my bunched-up clothes as an improvised pillow but besides that, I was spread flat all night which was one of the only beds available which didn’t do well for my neck (since we'd left most everything behind at the chapel building). Did I mention that I was on the top bunk…again?! Just like the MTC. It was the only one that wasn’t taken in the scramble for beds. The other guys beat me to the punch on any bed that would have afforded me relief from a fan. The closest thing I had was the window. Have you ever tried to sleep while sweating? Dryness was a comfort we never had in those two years.
Realize now for just a moment please that I was young and naive. Likely due to the need for sleep and lack of mind power, it did not register that this was just the mission home. I’d never been in a mission home before and no one explained anything to us when we arrived. All they said was to follow them. If they did explain anything, it was in Spanish which we couldn't understand. And I’m sure that it’s different for all missions, and not nearly as bad as it was for us but I’d expected better from a mission home. I thought that this was it! A dead end. I thought that we were all going to be living in the house together for some time, maybe months! Roommates. I didn't know any better because I'd never lived with missionaries before. That would have been hell. Fortunately for me, it was only hell for one night. I’m sure it could have been worse. You know what they say, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.
You'll be relieved to hear that a new mission home was obtained not long after and that was only one of two times I stepped foot in that haunted house. The new mission house was slightly closer to the Mission Offices but considerably larger. A mansion even. Were it not for the slobs of missionaries that lived in the Mission Offices, it may have been one of the most beautiful places the city had to offer.
As far as culture shock went from the regular comforts of home to six weeks at the MTC to about 100 weeks of this new culture and lifestyle, we were thrown into the deep end for sure. What better way to learn than by necessity? Haha!
Comments