Ethiopia 2011: Leaving a Piece of My Heart in Addis

I’ll be honest with you up front. Starting this blog is a very daunting task. There is so much that I want to put in here, but I know that I will never get it all in, nor would I subject you to the pages upon pages that would certainly be the result if I did. If I were to tell you everything I wanted to, there would be a lot of emotion, some pretty funny stories, some graphic descriptions of bodily functions, and overall an outpouring of genuine love for the Ethiopian people. But I won’t do that. At least not right now. Because I don’t think I have it in me to do all at once. And I don’t know what this blog post will end up being like, because I haven’t thought it through, so I beg your forgiveness up front for what may seem like a sporadic ramble of stories and emotions.

I will start with this: I left a piece of my heart in Ethiopia. And the story begins…

I played a game when I was in Ethiopia with my two travel buddies (my good friend Lauren and her mom, Patty). I would ask them for the first two words that came to mind to describe a particular something or someone. I liked this game because it was a quick way to understand their impression of something without the opportunity for them to filter things. And it worked great! So I’m curious, assuming that most of you blog readers out there have never been to Ethiopia, what two words would you choose to describe your impressions of Ethiopia?

I’m going to take a wild guess here and say that maybe they would be poor and hungry? Or hot and dry? Perhaps you know a little more about the country and the humanitarian issues that it continually faces, and maybe you chose orphans and poverty? All of these would be right. But after spending three weeks over there, they would not be the words that I would choose. Because while all of those words describe Ethiopia perfectly, that is not the impression that I walked away with; that’s not what I felt about the Ethiopian people. My words, to describe this poor, poverty-stricken, hungry, hot, dry country full of orphans, would be compassion and resilience.

Compassion
You see, the people of Ethiopia have fully embraced the notion of compassion. They truly live it. Suggested synonyms for compassion are sympathy, empathy, concern, kindness, consideration, and care. And these are all words that I would use to describe the people of Ethiopia. It goes without saying that not everyone in Ethiopia can qualify as a compassionate person. But my goodness, I encountered so many compassionate people during my three week journey that I have no reservations in making that general statement. And I’m not just talking about people who are involved in the humanitarian effort there or who are acting as the hands and feet of Jesus serving God’s people. I’m talking about those people AND the people on the streets, the people who work in the guest houses, the poor families and their poor kids – all of the people of Ethiopia whom I ran into and interacted with on a daily basis. They are no superstars, but they are making a difference. And their compassion was apparent.

Ethiopians consider everyone family. Kids roam the streets from dawn until dusk unharmed. They have to roam the streets because they often have nothing but their legs and feet to get them to where they need to go, whether that be school, running errands for the family, fetching water an hour and a half away from their home, finding or begging for food, perhaps working a minor job like shoe shining to help bring in income; whatever it may be. They don’t stay home because at home they are idle. And Ethiopians really can’t afford to be idle. Most of them don’t know how they are getting tomorrow’s meal, or may need today’s wages to buy it. And most of them eat once a day, and that one time a day is anything but a feast. I wonder if all of the compassion hovering over the city of Addis Ababa helps sustain these people? It must, right? Because there really is no other explanation for it.

During my journey in Addis, I was fortunate enough to go on eight home visits. The organization that we were working with makes home visits for each of its kiddos at least once a year, kind of as a general check on the status of the family, but also to deliver some “gift” items such as oil or sugar. We did a few other home visits on our day spent visiting Korah (more info to come on that in a separate blog.…I think). Each of these home visits provided a completely different experience, but the one thing they all had in common was the living conditions. Imagine a tin or mud shack the size of your kitchen (unless it’s really big!) or office at work. Or perhaps your outside patio. Now imagine that with no floor, just dirt, and either tin or mud walls. And there could be anywhere from 2 – 8 people living in this structure. Most that we saw had only one bed and no “real” other place to sit. All of their possessions fit into this one room, which should indicate how many possessions they have. Some had one light bulb hanging from a wire running across the ceiling, and some had no electricity. None of them had running water, but some had access to a pump relatively closeby, where they may or may not have to pay for the water. Others had to walk up to an hour and a half each way to get water. So I’ll stop there, but you get the idea.

Now, here is a brief glimpse of each of our visits: 1) a single mother with one daughter who loves and cares for that sweet girl so much that she left her entire family in the countryside to come to Addis for work, 2) an HIV positive mother with one son who fights her disease every single day, but loves that boy to pieces and is so proud of him, 3) a schizophrenic mother who is not on medication, a father with ulcers who only sporadically works, and two of the most precious girls that you will ever meet, who crave love and attention because they don’t get it at home, 4) a great aunt who loves on her great niece because she was abandoned by her mother, 5) a single mom who tries her hardest to make a happy home for her sweet little daughter and the love that she has for her radiates in that little shack, 6) a room so small that the front door hardly opens, but is home to four people who cling together tightly as a family, 7) an 88 yr old blind leper and his family, and 8) a crazy funny lady who lives with her husband and one daughter in a tiny room with a menagerie of other “collectibles”.

Do you get it? Can you picture any of this?  I’m guessing probably not, because as an American, I would not have believed it until I saw it. And my mind, as quirky and creative as it can be at times, would never, ever have created these images as homes. But this is their reality. And even with this reality, these people are full of compassion.

Where else did I see compassion amongst the people of Ethiopia? When I observed a parent picking up a child from school, about to start the 45 minute walk home, and that child looked up at mom or dad with a big smile and got a loving hug in return, that’s compassion. When I saw parents toting around their little ones in slings on their backs, while carrying bags of other items and clearly burdened by their load, that’s compassion. And I saw an Ethiopian who is physically handicapped, either sliding across the road on skateboard or walking very slowly with a cane across the street, and people were patient and helpful, that’s compassion. I don’t know that the Western world has that kind of compassion; at least that which is not out of obligation or pride.

Resilience
When I think of the word resilience, I think of a man who gets back up again each time he is beaten down. Or someone who perseveres through trying times, or perhaps a woman who stands up for what she believes in despite the consequences. Synonyms for resilience include flexibility, spirit, hardiness, and toughness. In Addis, resilience is seen in just about every face that you encounter.

Just to give you a frame of reference, there are approximately 100 birr to every $6. So each birr is about 6 cents. A normal main dish at a restaurant costs anywhere from 30 – 60 birr, so give or take $3. And when you are walking along the streets and someone comes up to you begging for money, they ask for 1 birr. ONE BIRR! That’s how precious money is to the Ethiopians. They are resilient. They fight back every day; fighting against the things that continually try to push them down, like a growling stomach, aching pains from hard, manual labor, the struggle to learn English and Amharic, inclement weather than can destroy what home they have, and countless other factors.

I like to think that children are known for their resilience. Maybe it’s because they are so innocent and trusting. This world has not yet robbed them of that. Looking into the faces of the 24 children with whom I loved on, hugged, was the happy recipient of many kisses from, played dodgeball and soccer with, sung with, danced with, prayed with, cried with, blew bubbles with, took pictures of, created with – I can’t help but see faces of resilience. Each family situation is different, but those kids are still young enough to bounce back. They know hunger, they know pain, they no true sadness and hurt. But they know how to love like nobody else. And a piece of my heart remains with each one of them still today. It probably always will.

Being realistic for a minute, it is in our human nature to desire love and affection; and acceptance and affirmation. As children it comes in the purest form. As adults, generally it takes on a different form. But is it any wonder that I was literally on a high over there? I mean, this girl was getting loved on and attention more than I EVER have in my life. For three weeks solid! It felt strange to me, that I was supposed to be putting forth the effort to love on THEM and make THEM happy, yet I was feeling so loved. I guess that is the true meaning of God’s love, isn’t it? It works both ways.

Here are a few other tidbits or thoughts of interest from my trip:

• The streets of Addis work in harmony. Cars, trucks, donkeys, goats, people, sheep, buses, horse & buggies, stray dogs – they all dance together in a weird, fascinating way. There are few stop signs or traffic lights. It works. It’s chaotic and frightening for an American, but it works;

• The Ethiopians generally dress in many, long layers. Even in the middle of summer. Apparently they are cooler keeping the sun off of them then they are with less clothes on;

• The children over there have no concept of gender-specific clothing or colors. I guess it makes sense when you don’t have a lot, but I always did a double take when I saw a boy wearing white socks with green lace, or a pink sweatsuit, or a little girl wearing a Cars hooded sweatshirt ;

• They pick their noses and spit like it’s nothing;

• They love having their picture taken and they love white people. We’ve never colonized or corrupted them.

So here I am at the end of this blog. I will eventually write another blog telling more about the day to say things that we did, work in some funny stories about the kids, and hit the major sites that we saw. I will end this by saying that I was moved like never before. I expected to feel something major in my bones after this trip. And with no doubt, my bones are feeling the impact of compassion and resilience from a people who have every excuse not to be compassionate and resilient.

It is apparent that God is at work in Ethiopia. And I am so happy to have had the privilege to be a part of it, even if it was only for three weeks. And I also know, without a doubt, that a piece of my heart resides in Addis Ababa still today. It resides with each one of those children whom I came to understand and love. And it resides with a people who surprised me with the hope that they hold in their hearts, despite the reality in which they live. More to come, my friends…