When I was getting ready to move to Indonesia, I was willing to give up pizza, my mom’s dirt cake and one-stop trips to Wal-Mart. But I had one hope in return—a fruit tree.
Any type of fruit would do—bananas, pineapple, coconut, or something else I didn’t yet know existed.
Thankfully, I ate pizza the first week I got to Indonesia. I figured out how to make dirt cake with local ingredients. And I’ve adjusted to the several-stop shopping that’s common here.
But my first house was crowded in by other slapped-together shacks. My second house was surrounded by cement ground. And my third house—finally one with a yard—didn’t have a single fruit tree in it.
Find out what happened next at MAF's blog where I'm guest posting today.