Cheap shots...

So, the other day I “hit the deck”  in response to gunfire for the first time.

It seems everyone has their stories. In fact, at our retreat the other day, I came upon three of the SoSud fellas exchanging their tales over the BBQ pit.

Yeah, I hit a landmine in my car. Felt like lightning. Rebels were firing shots just over our heads in the village. We had to run from Antioch bombs to the shelters. It was as if we were in slow motion. The sky was red and orange with exploding shells. Etc, etc.

You can hear some pretty intense stuff if you listen long enough.

As it turns out, however, mine was more just humorous.

But first, some framework through which to see this.

In Lopit, gunfire is pretty common. Every guy has a gun and its purpose is often exchanged from a tool of war to a medium of expression. “I’m happy!” Bang, bang! “This man came back after 20 years away!” Bang, bang, bang! “I’m just plain drunk!!!” Bangity, bang, bang!

So, we rarely jump at shots. There’s always a calculation—conscious or unconscious—once they go off, a considering of the facts. Can I attribute this to a loud party next door? Did someone just come back from the North? Are my neighbors absolutely wasted? Just where it is coming from? How many shots?

Then there’s the embarrassment factor: How certain am I that if I react in a serious way to this gunfire, I will be ridiculed for the rest of TIMO?

So, clearly, the calculation is key, though it takes only a millisecond or so.

This particular night the three of us were in the kitchen, diligently making samosas. The village was relatively quiet—no parties or dances or funerals or homecomings of any sort.

But then it was just like, Bang-bang, bang-bang-bang, bang-bang, bang-bang-bang, etc. Right in our front yard, it seemed.

Now, about the sixth or seventh bang in there, the scale of the calculation started to tip a bit and the “This sure isn’t usual” alarm bells started going ringa-dinga-dingy.

Oh, wow, if you could have been there for this part!

Kim just stands there, blankly. “Deer in headlights” seems appropriate.

Meanwhile, Pattie—true to form, “bless her heart”—goes into a bit of a panic, spinning around and around and moving closer and closer to the standing cupboard thingie, which I think she darn near climbed inside.

Turns out all that spinning was her looking for me, who—as it also turns out—she sees as the sort of go-to girl in these situations. She said she assumed I had a plan and know what to do, so she was looking to follow me. Haha. She’s so sweet. (Kim is just as capable as I am.)

But, well, of course she didn’t see me in her panic spins because I had somewhat unconvincingly—remember the “ridicule for the rest of your TIMO life” factor—dropped to my knees.

Which, might I add, is exactly what we’ve been told to do when there’s gunfire in the villages.

And which I DID add… when the shots stopped ringing, Pattie stopped spinning, Kim came to and they were both looking at me expectantly.

“This is what we’re supposed to do.”

Half an apology. Half a question.

Wholly out of fear of ridicule.

(Thankfully, they agreed and I was spared any and all ridicule, and instead can dish it out…)

So, there you have it, my first hit-the-deck story, in all its lack of glory!