For the longest time, I convinced myself that my youngest host sister, Hasina, liked me. Or rather, I knew that she found me to be Adequate, and I convinced myself that was her highest rating. Other people–usually men–would get a grimace from her. I received no reaction at all.
For the first eight months, the only time I got a reaction out of her was when we went to the tap to wash our laundry together. She washed the entire family’s clothes three times a week. The first time we went, she stood with her jaw dropped as she watched me clumsily try to wash laundry the way I had read about it on an American DIY blog, trying to rub the clothes against themselves like that would actually get them clean. I don’t think it ever occurred to her that someone could be so incompetent as to not know how to wash their own clothes. She sighed and without a word pulled all my clothes away from me and started doing them herself. I asked her what I could do and she pointed to the ground a few feet away and told me to sit.
So for eight months I told myself that the lack of a scowl when she saw me equaled success. Sure, if she was relaxing on the bed and I entered the room she would immediately leave, but that’s just what fifteen-year-old girls do, right?
And then one day my friend and fellow Fulbrighter came to visit. Lucia is an American who was born in China and is of Chinese descent. She gets mistaken for being Nepali a lot. As soon as she arrived in the village, people crowded around to tell her and my host sister how similar they look. “Twins,” they would say. “See? If this girl is American, Hasina looks like an American.”
My host sister sat next to Lucia while everyone compared them. I could see her taking everything in: Lucia’s generous smile, her new clothing, and the air of confidence she carries with her. For the next two days, Hasina tried to sit as close to Lucia as possible. Every time Lucia said something, my wide-eyed sister would nod vigorously. A joke from Lucia would prompt almost hysterical laughter. My host sister asked Lucia to braid her hair. She asked for clothing advice. She asked about America.
And for the first time, I was forced to admit to myself that there was a rank higher than Adequate, and that I’d failed to reach it.
Hassina with her friends
A few weeks later, my sister and I stayed up all night on the roof of our house pointing out constellations, talking about boys, and sharing our plans for the future. After months of having this stagnant, Adequate relationship with my host sister, things changed very quickly.
My sarcastic humor came through more, simply because I had a much greater command of the language. Joking in another language is hard! She saw me cry at Thanksgiving, and I think perhaps she saw me differently then than she had before. My other host sister was home visiting, and I saw the two of them horsing around, and I just walked over to them and grabbed them in a big bear hug and didn’t let go.
And that’s how it’s felt these last months with her- like we were in a constant bear hug. She would walk up to me and hold my hand until one of us had to leave. We snuck treats to the family dog together. We hauled water together (in full disclosure, she carried 15L at a time while I carried 5). We created a rule that if someone wanted to hang out with us, they had to agree that they would be the one sacrificed to a tiger, should we be so unfortunate as to cross paths with one. We borrowed each other’s clothes. And one night, she asked me to go with her on short walk, which — 5 miles later — ended in us arriving an hour late for dinner giggling with feet caked in mud and a thrilling excuse involving a rabid dog, a crazed man selling rings, and a destroyed house.
And we still have moments of difficulty. Our relationship is still growing, and it will never be perfect. But I’m lucky to get to count her as one of my sisters.
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