I’m rushing to purchase some ingredients for lunch before the produce stalls close for their lunch break. Locals tend to take a two- or three-hour break for their lunch, as it is part of their culture to nap after lunch. My language class ended a little later than usual. I see the alleys already clearing of people. Fortunately, Helen’s vegetable stall is still open.

I met Helen a few months ago when my previous vegetable vendor was unexpectedly put out of business. At the time, I was wondering if I should move to a different location, and I had prayed asking God if there was a reason I should continue living where I was.

One day, I walked out my door and down the street to explore my options. 29-year-old Helen was the first vegetable seller I saw. She was eager to talk with me when she found out I was an English speaker. Previously, before she had married and started a family, she’d had several English-speaking friends she would practice English with. Her prices were fair, so I’ve made it a point to shop from her and chat with her almost daily since then.

I park my motorbike as Helen arranges her vegetables and starts dumping buckets of water on the ground. Her expression seems unhappy and preoccupied, and she doesn’t notice me at first.

“Hello!” I greet her
“Oh, hi sister,” she responds tiredly.
“How are you?”
“Not good.”
“Oh?”

“I’m so tired. I have to do everything, and no one cares. My husband’s family doesn’t help me. I do all the cooking and cleaning. I wash the clothes. I care for the children. No one helps me. And if I don’t make enough money, they talk bad to me.” She is angry, frustrated, and stressed as she takes a seat.

I’m caught off guard. In all of our previous conversations Helen has been lighthearted. Yet, I cannot say I’m surprised at her sentiment. In the North, the locals are more traditional. It is still expected that when a woman gets married, she will live with her husband’s family and give up her career to focus on cooking and cleaning for them and taking care of the children. Helen had studied economics but gave up pursuing a career so she could sell vegetables full-time to provide for the family. Her husband, who drives an Uber motorbike, brings in less income than she does. With the pandemic restrictions, he is most likely not bringing in anything. So she is under even more pressure.
I want to provide Helen with a listening ear, but I also want to help her. But what answer can I give? I think back to my Buddhist language teacher who once commented that when people pray to God, their troubles seem to resolve themselves. I take a deep breath, send up a silent prayer and take a shot in the dark.

“Yeah, that is really hard,” I reply, looking at Helen sympathetically. “When I have a lot of problems, I pray to God.”

She pauses and looks up. Our eyes lock, and for a moment it seems like time stops. Should I not have said that?

“Yes, I do, too,” she says. “I used to believe in God. I used to go to a church near here, but after I married, my husband didn’t like it, and he made me stop.”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing!

“You’re a Christian?” she asks, and a small smile begins at the corners of her mouth.

“Yes, I’m a Christian,” I laugh.

“Yes, when I would pray, I would feel better. I would feel peace.” She pauses, a look of nostalgia on her face. “You know, whenever I feel stressed, and I see you, I feel like there’s no more stress. I feel happy. And sometimes when I don’t see you, I miss you. I want to study the Bible, but I don’t want my husband to know and get angry.”

It has been some weeks since that conversation. Because she is so tied to her work to support the family, arranging for her to come and join us for English classes or worship is challenging. In the meantime, I still stop and talk with her to encourage her and pray for her. Prior to that incident, I also introduced her to a couple of fellow teachers, and now they share Bible verses and encouraging quotes with her. She said it makes her happy to read them every morning.

I recently gave her some Bible tracts. She immediately opened one, and we began to decode the words she didn’t know.

One evening as I was leaving her stall, she said with a smile, “I think God sent you here to share with me about Him.”

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