Something More Creative Later

I have a few moments that undo me.

One happened on a see saw. It was tiny, plastic and yellow, and I was much too big, but I don’t let that stop me when it comes to playing with toys. A girl, pink shirt, puffy hair sat across from me. I touched her hair, then took off my hat, offered my curls. She accepted…and I don’t what happened, really, but in the next moment she had skinned her knuckle. She looked for me for sympathy and soothing, and I tried to help, with comforting tones, and a pretend kiss. But I couldn’t really kiss her hurt. She has HIV. The blood on her finger glared at me…I couldn’t kiss that littler girl’s booboo.

To make up for it, I accidentally broke the door on a little kid’s playhouse. I feel so guilty.

In my last post, I think I underscored the power of South Mercado. The day after, no one talked. We walked in silence. Most people had fitful sleep. When it came time to talk about it that night during debrief, a unwelcome silence blanketed the room. It lasted several minutes until someone spoke. Normally people are almost greedy to share. But South Mercado had done something to them.

I cannot give a sense of the place, but later I will try my hardest to deliver every detail the best I can. Now, I have obvious time constraints.

There is something intangible in the evil of South Mercado. Honestly, and I don’t think that I am using an unnecessary superlative, it is one of the scariest places I have ever been in my life. When my thoughts drift there, which they often do, I want to shudder and weep. It is so chilling…

We have returned to AHOPE three times now.  I am overwhelmed.  The children are radiant, and their smiles are bewildering almost in how beautiful they are, but half-hour or so, I realize where I am.  Surrounded by thirty children who all have HIV.  I hope that they don’t notice the sudden sadness.

But here is another thought I have about this whole dark world, about those children, about South Mercado, about the beggars who cross the street with shoes on their hands because their feet our gaunt-legged, about the kid how begs and tells me his mother and father have HIV–how he may be lying for money, but either ways it’s deep tragedy…My God is bigger than this.  He triumphs.  These things don’t even begin to compare.  It is my humanity that is so fickle, and when I look at that, well this all becomes a infinite mountain worthy of despair.  But if I listen to the songs I sing mechanically, “His grace is enough.”  Thankfully these problems are beyond my reach of solving.  I do such a poor job with the ones I assume are within my reach.

Food here is still wonderful, although my mouth is beginning to water for a real cheeseburger. The one’s here are so strange, with coleslaw and mayonaisse, and they aren’t the same. Unfortunately, the strange smells have continued. Often I am blamed for smells that don not belong to me.

Today, I said a farewell to two groups of street people that I had been working with. I realized that even though I have had my difficulties in working at my particular site, I have learned a lot from merely being in their presence. There is something surreal and tragic in the finality of the goodbye. I suppose there is always heaven.

I visited the bush on Friday, and saw several wild animals: an Oryx, a Lesser Kudu, a Salt’s Dik-Dik, a caged lion named Dolo, and monkeys. We actually stalked the monkeys and Josiah snapped some shots of them up close, at one point within ten feet of wild monkeys. I had a rock just in case, because I have heard stories, and didn’t want to have one to add to the mix.

Sadly, I heard quite a few comparisons to the Lion King, which is what I think many of us expected.  No elephant graveyards.

Also, my Lucky Charms hat fell into some majorly murky water.  I still haven’t washed it.  It may be too late.  So ends an era?

Last week, at a school, we acted out Jonah.  Phillip was the whale, and he ate me with his jacket.  Also, we did David and Goliath.  I slew Phillip with my one smooth stone.  I did not cut off his head.

Please pray that the Dark Knight is showing here in Addis.  A bunch of us want to go see it.  You know, enjoy the indigenous culture, all that jazz.  For real, pray that God will help us to leave graciously, to make the best of the time we have left, and to let God use us.  Surely He has more left.  We still have nine days.  Also pray for the BCF.  We have promised a six song set.  We only have 2 songs as of now.  A lot of pressure.

Also, if you are here, you may have received a facebook message with a few grammar errors in it.  Please ignore.  I make mistakes.  As I am sure there are mistakes in this post.  Those ones are a reflection of my true writing abilities.

Lastly, I want to say that the despair here is as thick as the pollution pouring black billows from the back of a bus, but there is also hope, so much hope.  That is what I want to bring home, although I’m afraid it won’t fit in my suitcase or my heart.

i don’t know where to start, really…

On Monday, I started work in an orphanage called AHOPE. We will be splitting our time with our original work site and the orphanage.

I don’t know how it started. I made some noises, three boys echoed me. I made a couple more noises. They echoed. I added a body gesture, they repeated it. Soon, I was waltzing around the orphanage yard, cawing, mawing, waving my arms, marching, and the kids were following the leader dutifully. At one point, I had about 20 imitating my everything…I even got them to tell Autumn that they were hungry and were going to eat here. Perhaps I misused my power. Do I regret it? Sometimes I lay awake at night…Leaving was a difficult endaeavor, as you can assume, with everyone echoing me, but I escaped.

The next day, was able to sit with several shoe shine boys, and able to pray with them. They are all boys off the street.

Then Wednesday. I am still recovering.

I returned to the AHOPE orphanage. My shadows were there, eager to imitate me. Such high flattery. I didn’t oblige them, but instead let a boy named Abraham drag me around.

And then we went to the other branch of AHOPE, for the children under 7. They are all so cute, and cuddly (and all the other smiley cliches). I had to coax a boy named Binyam to happiness, and then I couldn’t get rid of him. I plopped him on my lap and bobbed him around, and then added another boy (whose name I struggle to remember). Two little ninos juggled on my knees. Incredibly giggly, joyous faces.

Both of them have HIV. AHOPE only accepts children that are HIV positive. The second boy had a lesion on his neck and warts on his face, it was almost hard to look at…I wanted to weep…I have never experienced such privilege in my life.

That night, I walked the streets with a group of about six teammates. We met several boys who lived under a tarp against a wall.

Next, we walked the alleys of South Mercado. The alleys are paved of uneven rocks stuck in mud. Walls of sheet metals line these alleys, which stretch for kilometers. And women line the walls. Prostitutes, commercial sex workers, just sitting in doorways into huts which have little more than a bed and some posters on the walls. With two group members, I entered one of the commercial sex workers huts and talked with the woman. Her name was Jerry, a very nice woman. She indicated a curtain in the back. We lifted it to find a baby, Teguist, beautiful and asleep.

I don’t know what to do with that. With the whole day, with my entire time here. I realize how broken this world really is, and I just don’t know what to do with it. Jesus is obviously the answer, but if I am his body, what does he want of me? I know the basics, but when I look at Teguist, it all seems so much more complex than it used to. My tears aren’t enough. Sometimes they feel like all I have.

On a lighter note, still no sickness, and the food is amazing, although I have been emitting strange smells as of late. It have cause quite a ruckus.

I ate a Calzone that looked like it had eaten four litter Calzones. To all those skeptics, you would have been proud of my downing ability.

A little girl with braids turned around and I promise that the back of her looked liked the Predator. I can’t describe it any better than that.

Mainly though, I’m incredibly privileged. To have talked to Jerry, to have held those children. That God let me witness and partake in such things is more than I deserve.

Also, I will not be changing the blog title. My apologies.