The Uyghur (wee-gurr) People

“What is your country?” I asked. I knew I likely was pushing the restaurant manager to tell me something that wasn’t easy, but I needed to know the answer. “We are Uyghur,” he replied.

“I know, but what is your country?”

“We came here from (northwest) China, but China,” and his voice trailed off. I understood why. The Uyghurs are a people and a culture without a country. Their beautiful land and peaceful lifestyle has been invaded; they have suffered genocide at the hands of the communist Chinese. The people we saw in the restaurant last evening seemed to me to be those who have experienced great heartache.

We’d been on the bus to Panda Express (how boring is that!?) when we saw an open sign on Uyghur Lagman House. “Shall we go there instead?” I asked Laurence.

“If you want.” We got off the bus at the next stop and walked back to the restaurant. We passed the Samarkand restaurant where we like to go for special occasions. It’s owned by Uzbek Jews so wouldn’t open until sundown. (It was the Sabbath.) We expected the Uyghur menu to be much the same as Samarkand since we’re talking Central Asia and it was. We had the most delicious lagman (noodles) dish with lamb and manti (dumplings) filled with lamb. The manti came with sour cream. Their unique stringed instruments decorated the walls, along with pictures of their homeland, and decorated prayer caps. A blue and white design running around the border made me think of Asia. I felt so glad to live here and experience this place. It was their opening day.

These gentle people are Muslim. There are not many of them in NYC. I feel small when I think about their need for Jesus. This morning, it came to me that I can pray for them. Our God is not small. He made them, and he loves them.

Berniece