Katy visited Live Dead Silk Road on an intensive this summer. Check out this story for a glimpse into her experience on a minibus that changed her worldview!

I hurriedly stepped on, careful to not step on the heels of the people in front of me, quickly enough to make room for those behind me before the doors closed. If you don’t particularly enjoy being packed like sardines into a tight spaces with complete strangers, a mini bus in Central Eurasia may not be the mode of transportation for you. But as an integral part of life for most people here, it’s a must.

At the time we boarded the bus, there were only a few seats left next to other people. One man spoke and motioned for me to take a seat at the front of the bus. I hadn’t realized there was one open. I looked at Katlyn our team leader with wide eyes. After politely declining, she explained that no one here has a problem sitting next to strangers. She wouldn’t have had a problem either, but knew it would be easier for myself and a student on our team if we just stayed close together. Getting a large crowd off a bus in 4 seconds can feel like survival of the fittest.

Crowds of people began to slowly fill the bus. Men and women, children, young people and old. Some of the women had their heads covered in beautifully colored scarves, wearing modest clothing, while others were covered from head to toe, some in all black.

I stood in the corner of the bus taking it all in. What were these people like? Were they mad or happy? Did they come from work or have the day off? How did they treat their children and how were they treating one another? How many of them were Muslim and what did that mean for their everyday life? Because we’re all thinking it . . .

Is it true what I’ve heard about these people and about this part of the world?

I was puzzled. These people were the kind of people that gave their seats up when an elderly person stepped on the bus. They would excitedly giggle when I tried saying hello and thank you in their language, when often I expect someone to speak English when they’re in my country.

The bus became crammed and I was uncomfortable, because I was most definitely breathing down the person’s neck in front of me only they didn’t seem to mind. I was still alert, continuing to people watch and avoiding eye contact when I noticed out of the corner of my eye a man grab the hand rail with both hands and slowly make his way to sit on the floor. Before he reached it, the young man next to him grabbed him and helped him back up. Simultaneously, a woman at the back of the bus quickly made her way towards him while a couple stood up from their seat and helped him into it.

They weren’t the only ones. At this point, the whole bus seemed to move in one continuous motion to get this man to where he needed to be.

When he turned, I finally saw his face. He was smiling and nodding his head in thanks, eyes filled with tears.

Everyone’s eyes were on him until they knew he was settled. Oh, my heart. I quickly turned my head in Katlyn’s direction and as she smiled, I could tell she knew what I was thinking. The kindness of these people to each other and myself was overwhelming. They were treating this man as if they all knew and loved him.

Fear and hatred for these people spreads like wild fire every single day, but throughout my time here, all fear and prior ideas I had about who they are has been completely shattered.

Truth is, they’re not like the lies we’ve been told and I have a bus full of people to prove it.