Something More Creative Later

I cannot really tell you anything about Africa. Or Ethiopia. But I will try.

Right out of the airport, some men helped us put our bags into the cars…and ignorant we let them. Turns out they live like this, waiting for travelers, forcefully helping, and then demanding pay. But what struck me most were two men on crutches standing on the side. I now know that they were waiting to make eye contact with me because they are beggars, and that is what they do, but I didn’t know it then. And even now that I do, I cannot help but make eye contact with beggars. But in this particular instance, I shook hands with the first one, not knowing what I was doing, and then he held out his hand–the universal sign for begging…and then the other beggar hobbled over and did the same…

and I still don’t know what to do in that situation. I weep, I can tell you that much. Even now, when I ride back from this internet cafe, I will see things that will hurt to see, and that pain will hopefully leave a scar. I want these scars. This part of the world deserves them from me, because that means that I have truly lived in someone else’s experience. It also means that I will never forget, because the scars will always be with me. I think about scars a lot.

All is not woe, I promise. There is such beauty here, in eyes. In the Ethiopian skin, in their song, in their love for God. The food is exquisite, and I eat so much here (I think my ravenous hunger would honestly baffle those who know me.) I found an exotic orchid, alongside a wall, and it may have been the most beautiful flower I have ever seen. I won’t injustice it by describing it to you.

I went outside last night, near where we do our laundry (which is an adventure that I don’t have time to describe) and I was singing. A girl named Selam (peace) was doing her laundry. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“Singing to the moon,” I replied.

“It is so beautiful.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “We live in such a blessed and cursed world.”

“What do you mean?” she said, somewhat confused.

“Look at that moon. It is so wonderful as it shines on us. But even as it shines, the light falls on the homeless street people, some of whom will die tonight.”

That is what I think of this place. I am so privileged to be here. Every moment is undesrved. I wrote in my journal that I will never leave Africa. I may return to America, but I will never leave Africa. You cannot leave things that are in your heart.

I realize I haven’t really told you much about Ethiopia, just my thoughts. I am working with street people during the week, but we have only been planning, so I can’t tell you too much. My Ethiopian roommate is named Sami, and he is so patient with me, an ignorant ferenji (foreigner.) Sometimes I struggle emotionally, and not in the noble way you might expect. I am very selfish and cannot always see how God is working. I expected this trip to look a certain way, and it doesn’t, to be honest, which is good. But in the process of my expectations dying, I can just be a negative nancy. I need prayer for patience and grace in this area. I haven’t gotten sick yet, so please pray that I don’t, because that isn’t fun–we can be honest about that.

The gross part of me wants to tell you about the squattie potties, but I don’t expect that would be taken very well, especially by some of you that I value the most.

I went to a school the other day for children whose mother’s have HIV. I was only there for a short time, and they had such dirty hands, but they all wanted to shake yours, and touch my hat and curly hair…but I have never been happier to have dirty hands.

I walked past a beggar without eyes. Another without an arm. Another nursing a child. Another beggar was a child. No child should know how to beg. Another girl, named Lem Lem, sells us gum at the bus stop. She is glorious, but she should not be selling gum. Her smile alone is worth the 4000 dollars this trip cost. Another beggar had an extremely bloated foot. Another’s face was literally falling off. It is hard to look at, but I force myself to. I have looked away for far too long.

I don’t know what I can do here. My hands are only so big, and terribly unskilled. But my God is bigger than me. Without Him, this trip would amount to nothing more than a cultural experience, and that is a disgusting waste.

I heard that some prostitutes sell themselves for only 1 Birr. That is the equivalent of 10 cents.  This may be a rare exception.  But still.

I have so much to tell you. Really, I’m bursting…but I have already been here too long. Please, remember me in your prayers. Also don’t judge me for the sloppiness of this post. I am rushing to give you as much as I can.

P.S. there is nothing in this ps.