Dear family and friends,
So I promised to send you guys some fotos this week, because I had some weeks of making up to do. It took a lot of time, so I will try to make this a good letter, despite its shortness. I have everything written down in my caderninho (notebook), so I will not forget to write about them next week. Last week, I had forgotten to mention the most important part of my letter, that being that the people here in Uruguaiana are AWESOME!!! :) They are, by American standards, very third world, and very poor. Our apartment, by American standards, is very small, and fairly homely. It’s beaten down, and a lot of the stuff doesn’t work. But by Uruguaianian standards, we've got the best spot in town. The homes here are the size of an average American toolshed, just not as nice. I sent a couple of fotos showing what an average house on the outskirts of town looks like. (Good luck finding them, mom and dad, because they are buried in a gigantic pile of foto mess. I sent them sort of in order, with some exceptions, chronologically by emails entitled Fotos, mais fotos, mais fotos ainda, mais, and sim, ainda mais.) Anyways, they have very little, but they all seem like they have everything they could possibly want. The kids play soccer with volleyballs, because soccer balls are more expensive. When they bust, they just stuff them with garbage and duct tape them together so they can play more. The missionaries are like kings to them. Everyone, recent converts, less actives, and nonmembers alike, love to have us sit down and talk to them about the gospel. Oftentimes, they will just have us read scriptures to them because a lot of them cannot read. But the people here understand the importance of the Holy Scriptures, so they love to have us read to them. Because of this overwhelming love for the missionaries, we don’t really "tract" that often, because our schedule is always full. But when we do, we don't really have to clap houses, because everyone spends all of their time outside, anyways, because inside the house is very claustrophobic. So most of the time, we'll just find people outside on a lawn chair, sipping their chimarrão. Oh, speaking of which, we don’t have that many people that we have to coach the word of wisdom to, because no one really drinks coffee here. EVERYONE and I mean EVERYONE, drinks chimarrão. It’s like a sort of tea (that isn’t against the word of wisdom) that seems to be some sort of a status symbol. If you're a REAL southerner, you drink chimarrão. So everyone, except the native Cherokee, drinks this stuff. And there are no Cherokee here, so there is no exception. So we can just walk up to anyone in town, say hello, ask how they're doing, to which they will respond "Muito bem, pelo graça de Deus" (very well, thanks to God), and we begin our lesson.
So I promised to send you guys some fotos this week, because I had some weeks of making up to do. It took a lot of time, so I will try to make this a good letter, despite its shortness. I have everything written down in my caderninho (notebook), so I will not forget to write about them next week. Last week, I had forgotten to mention the most important part of my letter, that being that the people here in Uruguaiana are AWESOME!!! :) They are, by American standards, very third world, and very poor. Our apartment, by American standards, is very small, and fairly homely. It’s beaten down, and a lot of the stuff doesn’t work. But by Uruguaianian standards, we've got the best spot in town. The homes here are the size of an average American toolshed, just not as nice. I sent a couple of fotos showing what an average house on the outskirts of town looks like. (Good luck finding them, mom and dad, because they are buried in a gigantic pile of foto mess. I sent them sort of in order, with some exceptions, chronologically by emails entitled Fotos, mais fotos, mais fotos ainda, mais, and sim, ainda mais.) Anyways, they have very little, but they all seem like they have everything they could possibly want. The kids play soccer with volleyballs, because soccer balls are more expensive. When they bust, they just stuff them with garbage and duct tape them together so they can play more. The missionaries are like kings to them. Everyone, recent converts, less actives, and nonmembers alike, love to have us sit down and talk to them about the gospel. Oftentimes, they will just have us read scriptures to them because a lot of them cannot read. But the people here understand the importance of the Holy Scriptures, so they love to have us read to them. Because of this overwhelming love for the missionaries, we don’t really "tract" that often, because our schedule is always full. But when we do, we don't really have to clap houses, because everyone spends all of their time outside, anyways, because inside the house is very claustrophobic. So most of the time, we'll just find people outside on a lawn chair, sipping their chimarrão. Oh, speaking of which, we don’t have that many people that we have to coach the word of wisdom to, because no one really drinks coffee here. EVERYONE and I mean EVERYONE, drinks chimarrão. It’s like a sort of tea (that isn’t against the word of wisdom) that seems to be some sort of a status symbol. If you're a REAL southerner, you drink chimarrão. So everyone, except the native Cherokee, drinks this stuff. And there are no Cherokee here, so there is no exception. So we can just walk up to anyone in town, say hello, ask how they're doing, to which they will respond "Muito bem, pelo graça de Deus" (very well, thanks to God), and we begin our lesson.
And, unfortunately, I end
my email. Enjoy the pics, I love you all!
-Elder
Wassom
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