The Aquaintance Becomes The Friend

We drove back, sharing our thoughts as we could. We cried, we smiled. It was a mixed up time for us all. Poor Tom had already told his friends how crazy we were, praying and crying all of the time. He liked the praying part... but as most men, he didn't know what to do with crying ladies.

We got a bite to eat and headed straight for home. It would be my last night. I took a walk to the little "grocery store" that was accrossed the street from our home. I bought my children some native treats and some local home made soap to take back. Upon checking out, I gave them my flashlight that they had been so impressed with on my many trips. It had a latern feature that would work out nicely in power outages, plus give them something to remember the "crazy white lady" by. Again, I hate to have to remind you of this, but I had quite a reputation and was famous in Ethiopia. They were grateful and laughed as I bounced home.

Up stairs, Kim was packing in hopes of getting a flight first thing the next morning. We would be going to the Visa office to get a British Visa and then Tom and I would spend the day killing time until my flight later that day. That was the plan anyway. Kim was wiped of energy. She could hardly think to pack. Nettie was comfortably resting in bed.

As Kim retired for the night and I lyed snuggly tucked into my bed, there was knock on my door. Who could this be and why? We were ready for bed!

It was the property managing young man, son of the owners, Kibrom. He came in and was seemingly unaware as to what our intentions were at that hour. He sat on the couch, asked about our trip, and finalized a few minor details of us getting checked out. We owed him some money for the phone card we used, internet , etc that we needed to pay up by morning. Kim paid him then and called it a night. KB and I continued to talk.

Without going into much detail, let's suffice it to say that God did not want me sleeping that night. He wanted me THINKING! He wanted KB thinking, too. KB had been going through a discovery period about how God wanted to use him to make a difference for poor people and KB had never even realized just how poor they all really were. He thought that the kids working on the streets were success stories and when I told him that I felt like they were sad stories, he finally got it. He shared many things with me that made me realize just how wasteful and selfish I had been in my life and I felt more convicted at that point, than ever. So many thoughts had been bouncing in my mind and heart the whole trip and I got to spew them all over KB and get honest feedback. It was amazing. He and I cried. We talked. We thought about what could be. We stayed up until the wee hours of morning and when I finally went to sleep, I had the most peaceful sleep of the trip. I had some kind of spiritual cleansing with KB that night and finally was able to put into words so many things that I had been thinking.

I found a friend in KB that night. I grew to trust him and to know him on a level that most people don't know new aquantances on. He was not like many Ethiopians who have money. His family has money and like so many, the sisters of KB all came to America for their lives. KB did not because he wants to make an impact where he is and make a difference for the future of Ethiopia. You ask how? He does, too. He has no miracle solution. He admits that the problems there are too plentiful to have all the answers for, but he knows that if people would begin investing themselves in the solution, that one family at a time could be transformed. He is starting a non-profit of family to family sponsorship. He does not pay beggers. He pays organizations that help homeless to get off the streets and get jobs. He finds other families in need and helps them to get steady income and thus changing the future for the children in the home and the children's children. He is well intended.

I have been in touch with KB since I have been back. We write back and forth a few times a week, as power allows. He is doing well. He has sponsored a new family. This is his second sponsored family. It is a mother and daughter. The mother is new to Christianity and is a prostitute, though they don't call them that there. She wants out but their prositution is a lot like sex slavery and she must pay to get out. She has to pay 600 birr a month for 7 months to get out. This is impossible for her and that is how they own her. If KB can get her out, KB's family will put her up in housing and take her to church and find her a job. She is willing to do any kind of work that is moral. Jason and I are working with KB to help get her out and sponsoring her out for the first month at the cost of $64. I am not sharing this with you to pat ourselves on the back or to have you think us crazy for trusting in a man "I hardly know", but only to show you how complex the problems are between the food shortages, medical problems, sex slavery, famine, etc... and how impossible it is for them to resolve the problems on their own. I do think KB has something right. If the daughter, Betsolot, grew up with a mother that was a sex slave, what do you think would become of the daughter? If her mother finds a way out and can provide a different example, Betsolot will likely do differently as well. And Betsolot's children will follow that same example. By helping the mother, we have likely saved generations. This will take a lot of personal time and resources from KB and his family, but God bless him for doing it. The money is the small part in the grand scheme of what needs to be done for this family, so we are happy to help where we can. Please lift up mother Tsion and daughter Betsolot in your prayers. They have a long way to go from where they are to where the Lord wants them to be.

Saying Goodbye

Saying goodbye. Where do I even begin. It was something I did not want to do. I did not know how attached I would become to these children. How could I? It was only in 4 days of which most of them were no more than a few hours of interaction. And yet, I was. Hard to understand as I sit to write, but to this day, three weeks later, there is not a day that goes by that I do not think of them. I still cry tears over them.

The long walk back could have been much longer and I would have been fine with it. The children grabbed their Bibles first thing upon their return and the flashlight pens that they had tied to them (for night time reading during power outages). They all came running up to Kim and I. They were hugging us.

Fikadu broke up the mob and gathered us all into one big circle. With hands held, he asked if I could pray for them. Of course I would not leave without praying over them. I was happy for the formal opportunity. With heads bowed I began thanking God for these amazing children, for the staff that cared for them daily, for the purpose and plan that he had in each child and that the Lord would reveal His purpose and plan to these children. I prayed in thanks for the time, the opportunity, the blessings that they were to us. I prayed for their food, safety and comfort. And as I prayed I fought back tears but they came anyway. My nose ran and I sniffed to try and keep from making an even bigger scene. Many children joined me in my tears. Following my "Amen", Fikadu began praying in Amharic. He, too, began to cry. When we were done praying, the children all began to hug us. We presented Fikadu with a cash gift to use for the orphans and they were beyond grateful. The children clapped.

Each child, one by one, came for a kiss on the cheek and a hug. My girls that drew me pictures and held my hands so often held me so tight. My camera boy could not look me in the eye and sobbed as he held me. I made him look at me in the eyes and promised him I would be back, but no time soon. He held me more.

Many children began to bring us their Bibles and have us write them a message of hope inside the cover page. We did. But we would have been there all night if the kids would have had their way so Fikadu broke it up. We gave our final hugs to Fikadu and left the center. Our hearts were heavy over having to leave. We honestly could not process it all... too many emotions for these fragile hearts to handle.

Gopher Field?

So the children were fed and eager to play. The "football" players and volleyball players were also ready for their chance to show off. Fikadu asked if we were up for the walk and we knew the boys' home was just a 5 minute walk up the street. We also knew they had a big, grass, front yard to play in so readily agreed to go.

The children fought over the opportunity to hold my hand. One boy held my right hand and the girl that usually had it pushed him aside which was quite a feat given her size compared to his. He would not stand for it and pushed back while clenching my hand firmly to insure being shown up like that again would not happen. I shook the children off both of my hands. I told the boy that he was older and that he could play with my camera while she held my hand. He didn't speak much English at all but his eyes lit up as I passed my camera to him. The girl was crying at this point and I bent down to hug her telling her that I had enough love to go around. She held my hand. The usual girl held my other hand. The boy pushed the buttons on my camera to flip through the pictures I had taken so far on the trip. We all began to walk as a group.

As we walked down the emensly rocky road the children would ask me to "sing English". And we would take turns singing songs to eachother. Periodically, they would recognize the tune though the words they did not, and sing the same song in their language. Funny how when languages could devide people that music connects, and ultimatly, God keeps us connected. They love the same Lord that I love. For that reason, there is already a given understanding.

As we walked, the boys home was on the right. But no one was turning into it. I was confused, but went along with the group. Fikadu was walking faster than our hand-holding-string of 5 plus kids. As he passed, I stopped him. I asked if we were going the right way. He said we were. Then, the boy with the camera was SO EXCITED about the camera and kept telling me "thank you" over and over so I was concerned that the boy thought that I had given him the camera. I asked Fikadu to tell him that he was only looking at the pictures. Fikadu did, then looked at me as though I was a bit crazy for thinking that to begin with and shrugged his shoulders while saying, "yeh, he knows." I was relieved and then just amazed that looking at the back of a digital camera was just that special for him.

WE walked. We went passed all the homes. 20 minutes had gone by. We were now headed down a hill with a canal that had been cut through it by the rains. It was grass covered and had power poles here and there. 10 more minutes passed. We were at the bottom and could see "the fields". This was not at all what I had expected. This was an area for grazing and irrigation. Donkeys and cattle were all about. There were no goals, no nets. There were holes from some kind of burrowing animal that were just right to twist an ankle in, and they were everywhere. The kids walked faster as we got closer. They were obviously excited. The boys in the lead began to run to their field and called the best spot as theres. A game of "street home kids" vs "boys home kids" broke out upon our arrival.

At this point, my string of kids was approaching. Some of the staff had taken a seat in the grass to watch the kids play and get off their feet. The boy with my camera handed it back to me, pointed to the camera, then promptly posed on the lawn. I have attached this picture. He had obviously seen this before since he could not have practiced in mirrors that don't exist and it was really cute.

Now a girl I had promised to play volleyball with hit me the ball. The "camera boy" joined in. We bumped the ball back and forth though it was obvious that no one had ever taught them how to do it properly. 3-4 hits without it hitting the ground was a record. We had barely begun playing when a girl I had promised to play soccer with interrupted. Fikadu helped us set up the "playing field" since some cattle were in the more ideal spot to play. I was relieved when he turned our field from end-to-end to side-to-side... this would save me when it came to running. And boy did I run. It was all girls playing and they were surprisingly good. All girls, except my "camera boy". He did not want to play with the boys. He just wanted to be by me. He started as my goalie and then relieved me 20 minutes into it as I found myself gasping for every breath.

We played and played. The staff headed back and we just played. Fikadu was reffing the all boy game and periodically we would hear a cheer. No one from either girl team scored. Kind of funny, huh? The sun was starting to set. The children had not had dinner. Neither had we and we had no fruit or cake because of our "only cooked food" rule. It would be a long walk back.

I had more fun than I can describe. I was a child playing with children. I was in love with their energy. Their smiles. Their willingness to give all that they had, and that was just themselves. I walked back more full than I had been in years. Sad, I know. My children give me themselves every day. So does my husband. But it is not all that they have to give and so it feels different. It is amongst their struggles of "my do" " I want" or "What a day..." and so it feels different. These children were so longing for a mother like figure to play with. To hold their hands. To hug them and tell them how special they are. They valued the time like no child I have ever seen and I valued it because of that, too. I knew that saying goodbye would be near impossible.

On the long walk back, the boy with the camera points behind to Nettie. He says "Netzanette. Go America?" I nodded and said "Yes." He looks down ," I go, with you." My heart broke right there. How could I explain to this child that if I could, I would steal him up right then but that it just wasn't that simple. " I can't. You have to do a lot of papers and pay a lot of money. It is not easy. " I knew his broken English barely caught a word I said but that he knew the answer was no. He just looked down. The girl holding my left hand looked up to me, "Than take me." They just couldn't understand. And I just couldn't explain it to them. How could I explain something that I didn't fully understand myself and I was deeply saddened.

We kept walking. God provided us with a donkey that was peeing right next to us and we all laughed. The kids began to try and teach me words in Amharic. Now that must have been funny because the donkey peeing was just the start of the laughter. Each word started a whole new bound of giggles.

So- I saw their talents. I played with them. I walked with them, talked with them, and loved them. What more can I say?

Festivities and Gifts

When the feasting was done and staff and children were full alike, we announced that we had gifts for them. A box with shiny wrapped gifts was brought front and center and brown curled ribbon adorned each package. The children looked on with excitement. Whatever was in those beautiful packages must be special. Must be worth while... and indeed they were. This would be a gift that we hope would be with them their whole lives and that the same feeling they had when they first saw their first ever wrapped gift, would be the same feeling they would have for this book for their whole lives.

One by one, each child's name was read allowed. The children would chant the chosen child's name while clapping in a slow, rythmic way as the kid would make his/her way to the front. It began to rain. No one cared. The children moved to one side or the other of the hole in the awning above to avoid the water getting on them or their gift while seated. Every child waited to open their gift until all children were called. And all at once, they opened their gifts. The children were pleased. Very pleased. They leafed through their Bibles and held them to their chests. Yes, this was the only personal thing that many of them owned. It was theirs and they had a sense of ownership over it.

In unison "Thank You".

The children then told us that they had something for us. Kim and I sat down on their benches as many children arose. They gathered in front and sang us the most beautiful songs. We loved to see them smile as they sung and moved their bodies to the music in meaningful motions. They sung of Jesus, His great love for them, His healing ways, and His joy. It warmed our hearts.

Next the gymnists arose. The rain had stopped and we all came out from the awning. They boys SCARED me to death as they tumbled down the angled drive, off the edge, onto the dirt and then used a rock as a spring board onto a grass mat. The children and adults gasped and clapped in amazement. They flipped and twisted from place to place and though it was truly amazing, I was shocked to see them all in one piece at the conclusion. I asked Fikadu where they learned such things and was told that it was from watching it on tv. I could only imagine how scary it must have been to watch them teach themselves in such a rough terrain!

The soccer players, vollyball stars, and other athletes were all eager to join in and share their talents. We were invited to the "soccer field" and agreed. We presented them with 6 soccer balls and 4 jump ropes to take along and together, all 64 of us left for the fields. This would be the first time EVER that the cooks came along to the fields and everyone was excited to participate.

Fikadu had the kids all prepared. They knew that this was their day. Many had promised to show us their special skills and talents in days prior and we were just as excited to spend time with the children on a fun and intimate level, as we were in sharing our "gifts" for them.

I greeted the children on Kim's and my behalf. Fikadu translated. The children were smiling and excited to see what was waiting for their snack. Row by row, they were released into the dining hall. I waited at the door to give them a hug and welcome them since we didn't get to at the gate as we normally did. It was funny though, they were so eager to get inside and experience their treats, that most barely made eye contact with me and gave me brief hugs compared to the days prior.

They would grab a plate. Then pick from the fruit. Most took both a banana and an orange. Then the CAKE! Yes, chocolate and vanilla with the fluffiest icing both on top and layered within. It looked and smelled heavenly (though I didn't eat any!). On to the candy table where 2 pieces were selected. The last table would have the first cup of milk these children have seen in months. With their hands full and walking ever so carefully so as not spill from cup or plate, the children would exit out the same door they came. They would be lit like a Christmas tree and find a seat to devour their food.

They dove into their cake with their fingers. No forks, and no care! The would lick the icing from their fingers as they went. And it all went so fast. Most slowed down when it came to peeling their oranges. I tried to help and found myself considering that an American peeling tool wouldn't have even been helpful. It was only a minor stumbling block as the determined children worked to get at the meat of the fruit. There was not much talk as they ate... it was like a race to the finish line. And yet I believe they really did savor every bite.

As I watched on, I found myself fighting back tears. I find myself fighting them now. Cake. Fruit. A couple pieces of hard candy. Milk. So simple, right? For us anyway. For them, most had never had an iced cake before. Most never will again. Most have not had milk in many months, and likely won't again for many more. And most Americans would have pitched the green oranges aside, discounting them because of the extreme effort it took just to get the peel off. For them, nothing was discounted. The plates were virtually licked clean, and the children were full of more sugar than was probably smart on our parts! But boy were they indulged like the special kids that they were and are. I was silent as I watched on in amazement.

Final Preparations, Finally

So I waited and waited for Tom. We had eaten a late breakfast at a place we found, shopped, and Kim took Netzie inside a little street side shop where Kim befriended the owner and her son while I stood in our meeting place to wait. Tom did not come. 20 minutes, 30 minutes, 50 minutes... still no sign of him. I was watched by the police, the beggers, the store owners. Everyone looked at me as if to ask "what is this crazy lady doing just standing in one spot?" I asked myself the same question. What was I doing?? Obviously, I felt I should do something other than to just stand there and wait, but I didn't know what more to do.

Over an hour passed. With appologese flying, Tom screeched in to pick me up. We stopped by and picked up Kim and Netzie. We were on our way. We needed milk and candy and then our planning would be complete.

We stopped at the butcher where we had priced milk the day before. They were closed because of it being SUnday. Tom immediately picked another shop. This was a "convenience" type store. Everything we did at this point was with a sense of urgency. We were going to be late. We were not going to have time to set up before everyone arrived. The milk and candy were picked out and though I had been warned against running accross the streets in Ethiopia because that is considered crazy, I went sprinting from the store back to the car, acrossed the street- all while hollering "Com'on Tom... let's go!" I knew he would think me crazy and laughed as I did it. Some men on the street corner found me amuzing as well! Tom got in after his normal Ethiopian stroll back to the car and smiled, laughed half embarrassed and said "You are crazy. Those people were laughing at you." I told him that I was glad to make them smile and that I was just even more famous in Ethiopia now!

We had all we needed. The car smelled of the cake warming in the sun and of bananas that were already over ripe, ripening even more. But we had all we needed and we were on our 25 minute drive back to the Hope orphanage.

We had arranged to pay for a taxi bus for the street home children to be able to get to the party. We had also arranged for the staff to be able to take public transit from their homes at our expense. We knew that everyone would be there by the time we had arrived and we were going to have to find a way to get all of the children out of sight in order to set up the party. This proved easier than we thought.

Upon our arrival, we asked the staff to put all of the children into the common area room. Now this could not have been fun or comfortable for the kids, but we knew that it would be worth it in the end. Bag after bag of food was unloaded from the car. Boxes of Bibles, cake, jump ropes, and soccer balls were all lugged in and placed in the dining hall. The tables were pushed to the side and used for a buffet style set up and the staff worked with us to lay out all the food items. In a matter of 15 minutes, we were ready for the big reveal. Would they be as excited as we were? Would they feel the love we had for them in the things we brought?

They were all seated on their benches as we came out after the final preparations. The party was ready to begin!

Cake Confections

Sunday was a day of pure excitement. Kim and I were SO TIRED when we had finally made it to bed after wrapping the Bibles and crashed out as good as you can given where we were and all the noise we had to contend with nightly. And like every day, I woke up amazingly refreshed. It was as if adrenaline was the thing that just kept me going. The night of Kim's freak out (referenced many times between our two blogs but kept confidential in detail to protect both of our real identities) I had only slept 2 hours prior to "the incident" and yet, I thought it was near morning. Honestly, time and energy were just dimensions that were warped beyond explination. They were not at all the way they are at home.

Anyway, so I woke up SO EXCITED about the day ahead. We were going to have a real party that we planned in a foreign country on spur of the moment and somehow, by the grace of God, we actually were going to pull it off! Amazing... and so truly, truly exciting. Our new kids were going to get their first gifts and REAL cake! Too cool.

But there was much to do. We had to figure out the cake situation first thing. This was going to be the hardest part of the day and with church requiring our driver to take a time out from his driving duties for 2 hours, we had to be sure that we got this done first thing. I had remembered eating lunch at the National Cafe and seeing cake down stairs. The kind of cake I would love to eat and then lick off my plate any left over icing, if no one was around to see me. The kind of cake I had been craving but afraid to eat for fear of the uncooked icing giving me the travelers runs... so I asked if we could stop by there.

Did you know that I am famous in Ethiopia? Well, I am. We ate at the National Cafe quite often and now, we bought nearly their entire cake supply all before breakfast was served. I was a face they never forgot from that point on. Not to mention, I was easy to pick out of the crowd! Anyway, they had no boxes to put the cake in. They had no Saran wrap to cover it with... nope, TO GO is not a word in Ethiopian. (Or two words for that matter.) They made Tom promise to bring back the huge serving trays they were displayed on and then put torn up pieces of cardboard in between a few of the slices to keep the paper they placed over the top and sides, from falling into the frosting. It worked, kind of. Good enough. What other options did we really have. Tom was excited. I could see it in his face. He whispered "The kids would never think they were getting THIS kind of cake even if you told them they were getting cake today. Most of them have never had this." It made me feel so good to think that this was going to be the special and memorable day that we wanted it to be for these worthy children. I was worried about the frosting spoiling. After all, the party wasn't until 3 and no one even owned a refrigerator. We would not have time to come back to the cafe, so we had to take it. Tom assured me that their stomachs could handle it and that we would keep it in the shade of the trunk. YIKES! With no other option, that is what we did. It was 5 birr per piece. And each piece was BIG! To give it to you in relatable terms, a wole lunch with meat and veggies was 14 birr there. A whole loaf of bread was 5 birr. This was indeed, a special treat. 69 pieces of cake which was 3 full trays, and we were off.

It was now time for Tom to drop us off and head to church to translate from the pulpit. He picked the shopping area (remember my story about the boy who took the beating... this is when it happened). Anyway, we would kill a couple of hours here while we waited for Tom. And then- we would need to get milk for the kids, candy, and head to the party.

Fikadu's Truth

Fikadu was the director of Hope for the Hopeless. He was a middle aged family man. He told his story to us the day we drove to the country side, and like all people in Ethiopia, his story was remarkable. Fikadu had worked for an international company that headed up 160 child projects. It was at this time that the Muslim influence in Ethiopia pushed Christians to leave the area and the projects closed because of this. Fikadu found himself without a job and in following his calling, he linked up with Pastor Surefel and Hope for the Hopeless. His work began along side Surefel over eight years ago.

Fikadu is the leader and pastor of a local Lutheran church in Ethiopia. His heart is burdened to love the children and to teach them, though his role at church is much bigger than that. His favorite thing about his job is helping orphans to grow in their spiritual life and to educate them on the truth of Christ. He loves the children he cares for and treats them as if they are his own, with one exception. Years ago, when Fikadu was much younger, he fell in love with an older orphan that he was ministering to. The Lord brought them together and they later wed. They are now the proud parents of an 8 year old girl and a 10 year old boy. His relationship with his orphans is so personal that years after the children have left and begun their own lives, they will come back to visit and serve Hope for the Hopeless and the churches the kids attend.

Fikadu was with us our last four days and hosted us at all the Hope for the Hopeless facilities. He was an organized man, an obviously respected man, but above all, he was a man of great love and compassion that was wore on his sleeve for the world to see. When you saw him, you could see Christ living in him. He was warm with the children and encouraged them to smile, play, and sing us songs. He would work to translate between us and the children and he was a man I knew I could trust immediately. There was a peace in him that just made me at ease.

On the drive back from the boys' and girls' home, I asked Fikadu if he ever brought his children to the orphanage. He was reluctant to answer, and a slow "no" finally sqeaked out. I was wanting to invite his family to the party planned the next day but wanted to be sure he was comfortable with it. He went on to say that he didn't bring his children to "work" because how would he be able to explain to his children that his own children would not be able to eat the desireable food that the orphans were getting? My heart sank. The orphans have had their food cut to bare bones that we would consider neglectful by American standards and yet HIS children would have lesser quality? How could this be true? Yet, I knew it was.

Over the course of the days, we learned that with increased costs, Fikadu no longer can take public transportation to work most days. It is NOT a short walk, but he walks it all the same. His daughter cries herself to sleep at night because of a tooth ache, and yet he can not take her to the dentist for the required work. His children have been enrolled in private school and now, he is really struggling with having to cut them out of it (public school is NOT a good option there and many children without families, including the children from his orphanage, go to private school instead). He is not sure how he will afford to send them. And yet, with the huge food cuts and empty beds at Hope for the Hopeless, he also can not take a pay raise. This is the kind of problem that SO MANY people, even the working people, face daily in Ethiopia. There is simply not enough to go around and get NEEDS met.

Kim and I agreed to pay for his family to have meat for dinner. We sent him back to work that Saturday with 500 birr to stop by the butcher on the way home and have his wife cook up a feast for his whole family. He was humble and appologetic. We would not accept his appology. We wanted to do this for a man whom has done so much for so many. It was the least we could do. He was wishing he had said nothing of his children not going to the home... we didn't want to make him feel over indulged, but wanted to help where we could. He took the money. He was very grateful, and said thank you many times. And yet you could see a big part of him that was weighing whether it was right. Did the kids at Hope deserve the money more? I could see him working to make peace with it.

Since I have been home, people have asked if they were to give money to this organization if the money would get to the kids. This post serves as my answer to that question.

Party Prep

Kids in Ethiopia don't get to really have a childhood. They are orphaned at young ages and most of them find themselves fending for themselves as only an adult should, with very few years under their belt. So Kim and I decided that giving them Bibles and a few soccer balls would just not be enough. We wanted to throw them a special party like none they had ever had and like most would never have again.

When we left the orphage that day, we went to find wrapping paper for the Bibles. We got luck and the first place we stopped at had shiny tissue paper and tape. It would take several more stops to find the ribbon. In Ethiopia, people don't commonly spend money on gifts. Let alone, on paper to wrap gifts. This would be EXTRA special, and what a neat way for them to remember the day they all got their very own, leather bound Bible.

Tom and I took Nettie and Kim back to the guest house. Nettie was going to nap while Kim and the house cleaner would work on wrapping all 50 Bibles. Kim and I had devised a list of wants for the party and Tom and I were to get that while the ladies wrapped like elves back home. The cleaner was so thrilled to help. We intended to pay her for her time, but she was so excited that the money really wasn't why she was there. She smelled the Bibles and held it close to her chest. She loved the Bible and was excited about the task at hand. She asked me how to wrap it, and I told her to cut the tissue in half and then do it. She was confused. I had Tom show her how to cut it in half, but it turns out that the confusion was over how to fold it and tape it. She had NEVER wrapped a gift before. This was her first time.

The girls got to work (Nettie was not thrilled about her end of the bargain and kept Kim from her elfish duties for a short while at the start. Remember the first REAL tantrum, Kim!). Tom took me out. We had 64 oranges and 64 bananas to buy. That was the total number of people to be at the party tomorrow at 3:00. There were 19 staff and the rest were children. We would stuff gift bags for each staff member to take home, serve cake and milk and fruit to the children. It was all planned out in our heads, and the reality of making it happen was a totally different thing.

We went to a fruit stand. They had bananas and no oranges. (Side note, their oranges are green. There limes are yellow.) Anyway, we went to two different fruit stands just to get the fruit. Everything was sold by the weight, not the piece. This made for more challenges and we found ourselves getting too much in order to avoid not getting enough. Anyway, then the realities of the bag shortage were now setting in. We bough many, many oranges, and yet our plastic sacks were way over stuffed. I wanted extra sacks to make bags for the staff and we were refused. We ended up having to buy plastic sacks for 25 cents each because bags are a real cost for businesses there and they do not have enough to give them out. That took me back! Anyway, the bananas...always gettign side tracked... Tom ordered TOO many bananas. The vendor would show us a bunch, Tom would pick off the ones he didn't approve of and the rest would go onto the scale. The ones weighed and agreed upon would go onto a table to the side for me to purchase. And I think we ended up with over 100 bananas in all but they worked so hard at it that I didn't have the heart to ask for some to go back. Besides, they would get eaten and they were not that expensive. Once we got them all on the purchase table, the assistant began to cram these already over ripe gems into a bag. Several pounds to one bag. I just HAD to protest. I mean, I know that bags are rare and special, but the bananas would be bruising eachother... They gave in with reluctancy. I paid 100 birr, and the total was 95 birr. They searched for change. There was none to be had. I asked for 5 birr worth of tomatoes. That was about 25 tomatos. What a deal! So with the stand nearly out of bananas and rich beyond their hope for the day, we drove off. I shouted my AMISAGANADO as we drove away (wow, did I even get close to spelling that right? It is supposed to be "thank you" in Amharic). They would all laugh at my attempt to speak their language.

So we went to the bakery. We ordered 19 loaves of bread. 5 to a bag, of course! They had cake, normal cake. It was like a coffee cake or pound cake. Not a special cake. I refused. I wanted this to be a SPECIAL party with very special food. We would keep looking. Kim and I were paying for this party from our personal money, so a decision about milk had to be made. Each cup of milk was an American 25 cents. With so much being spent already, could we do it?! OF COURSE we could! We would have to get the cake and milk in the morning but there was one more thing I needed for our staff bags- nuts. We went back to my favorite place to buy soccer balls (Yes, I bought soccer balls there 3 times in three days by the time it was said and done)... I bought each staff member a packet of nuts and then broke down and bought 2 more balls. The kids just love them... how could I pass. Off to find jump ropes for the girls... which proved to be time consuming and difficult, but we got them. Now it was after 7pm. I had not eaten dinner and Kim was still at home with Nettie.

The trunk was now full. Really full. I asked Tom to take me to get take out food to bring back to Kim and Nettie. He took me to a pizza place where we paid a "carton fee" and "service fee" for our pizza order. It cracked me up. Anyway, I get home and the Bibles were all wrapped. They were ready for the ribbon that Tom and I found. Tom carried up all the food. Then we ate together.

Kim and I stayed up curling ribbon and writing names on each package. (Second side note- I hope Santa does the ribbon at Kim's house. Her ribbons were REALLY short!) We laughed and chatted, giddy with excitement over what lie ahead. We stuffed bags for each staff member. Oh yeh, and tom and I found pens with flashlights built into them so we tied one into each ribbon so even in power outages the kids could read their books.

We were beyond exhausted, both emotionally and physically. We needed rest. We still had a lot to do before the party the next day and EVERYTHING takes so much longer in Ethiopia than what we were used to. It was time to call it another day and get some sleep... all to the sound of dogs howling and the smell of fresh baked bread.

I Gave Them "Me"

First on the list to do today was to go to the boys' and girls' home and meet the children. We needed to pick up Fikadu at the street home before we could head out.

The drive was about 20-30 minutes. We passed a real leper colony on the way. That was a real shocker that made me again, so sad for the state of health care in Ethiopia. We got on a freeway and that was an interesting experience. We felt like we were flying as we honked slightly before weaving in and out of the few cars that were there. And we even passed a truck that was stacked likely 3 stories high with grain. The truck was slowly coasting along as his load shifted to the side. I reached for my camera but missed the opportunity to take the picture as we passed. You never see anything quite like that in America and the next day, it was proven why. A similar truck was stacked up with charcoal bags (product sticking out the top and bottom of each bag) and the load fell off the truck and into the road.

Anyway, we are on the edge of the city and pull into a residential area. There are fairly decent homes for city homes here and yet the road was just as rough as most everywhere else. We bob up and down as we make our way to the gate. The metal gates are opened and children are all coming to greet up. They hug us, kiss our cheeks, hold our hands and smile. They all line up to the side after their turn and each child watches our every move to see where we will go next. The boys and girls are together when we arrive. They eat together and worship together at the girls' home. Then the boys walk down the street to their facility. In anticipation of our arrival, they were all in one place for now.

Fikadu was eager to show us the facility. It was nice. It had a small yard, a nice sized patio, dorm rooms, a free room with couches and a tv, and then cook quarters and dining quarters. The buildings were painted white and were a putty type stucco exterior. Bunk beds were made to fit as many as possible in each dorm. The clothes were all kept in one closet and made available to all the children. The children had no personal belongings that one could tell.

We took time before heading to the boys' facility to interview each child. We wanted to know their names, what they liked, their favorite hobbies and foods, and what their dreams were. There seemed to be themes of career ideas and favorite sports activities. Most likes soccer, jump rope, or gymnastics (which they called it "circus") and most desired to be a pilot, astronomer, or doctor. A few wanted to take their sports professional and travel while playing. They were pretty timid to share with us at first, and understandably so. We kept it short. Thanked them for their time. And before letting them go, asked if they wanted to say something to their sponsors in America. All of the children said that they thanked God for their sponsors, that they loved them, and that they pray for their sponsor every day. I was so touched.

We had been here several hours at this point and were ready to see the boys' dorms. It was a short walk. Only about a 10 minute walk down the rockiest of roads. The children held our hands as we walked. They would ask us to sing to them songs from English Sunday school. I was happy to ablige! They would work to pronounce my name and then try and teach me theirs. They were lighting up. The timidness that first was present, was quickly washing away and being replaced with a spirit of excitment.

The boys home was equally as nice, though it had much more yard for playing games in. This facility had no kitchen or dining hall. It was just many rooms, with many beds. They, too, had a community clothing closet.

Our day was nearly spent. We had been there for hours and hours. Lunch was gone and missed and the children needed to get some food in their stomachs. We had to make our way onward but left them with a promise of returning the following day.

As I got in the car to leave, my heart was full. The children had moved me. Each child took time to hug us goodbye and the hugs were genuine. They had enjoyed us as much as I had enjoyed them. They felt loved by me, the way that I had felt loved by them. And though their obvious need for personal love and affection was very real and present, I think for that short day, they were able to set aside their losses and just enjoy the attention that they had. It made me feel good to give to them in this way, yet made me so sad that no matter how much of "me" that I gave them, it would not be enough in the time I was allotted.

Just Call Me Cinderella

So it was the next morning. The days were all running together. The date, unknown. We never really did know what day it was until the day we left.

Anyway, in my normal morning haze, I was really optimistic that I would get to shower. I needed it, or so I thought. I was up first. Read some in my Bible, a story about the loin cloth spoiling when it was burried...I prayed over the story, over our day, and for the children we had met. I felt ready to start my day.

I went to the shower and turned the hot water knob on. Not even a drip of water came out. I went to teh sink... a slight trickle. The kitchen sink, another slight trickle. I was not going to go without cleaning up. I had black dirt on my skin that could be wiped with my index finger from the the time spent in the car on the way to the orphanage the day prior. I had not bathed before bed because i knew the power would be on in the morning and that I was sure to have enough water to bathe. Turns out that I was wrong.

When the water pressure is really low, you can go to the main house and they will have some. Our suite being on a second story, the water won't go up to our floor without more pressure so I was hopeful that I could atleast fill a pot.

I took a boiling pot and tea pot down to the water spicket at the garden. IT took time, but it filled. I carried the pots up stairs and lit our gas burners. In less than 5 minutes, I had warm water in which to sponge bathe. I stripped naked and of course, that was the moment that Kim awoke.

I explained the situation to Kim. Told her I had tried the shower water supply twice, knowing how disappointed she would be. And believe me, she was not happy. I told her I would help rinse her hair after she was done with mine and that we were going to have a great day despite this! She watched as I rinsed GRAY water from my hair. I am telling you, the smog was thick! The picture I will post will be black soot taken from the tip of Kim's nose! YES, I know. Totally disgusting. But she insisted I take the pic because no one could believe this without a picture.

Anyway, I had finished my "bath" and was changing in the living area. I was combing through my hair and silently thanking the Lord that atleast I got clean and telling Him I was grateful for that. Then I am interrupted with a heckling laugh!

Kim shouts from in the bathroom that there IS hot water and that while I am in there getting ready, she will be taking a NICE, HOT shower! She had just finished ranting about how she was going to ask the owners to use their personal shower, hoping the elevation change would account for atleast one shower and how she was NOT going to go another day without a shower. Apparently, the Lord knew she really did need this shower and like magic, warm water fell from the shower head.

I was shocked. Amazed. And slightly pissed. She slept in. She didn't read her Bible. She didn't start her day with prayer. No... to the contrary. And yet, SHE got the shower! And then where was the humility for this gift- HECKLES! I laughed then, and laugh now. I had even turned off the water heater at the shower knowing that it sat empty and in an attempt to conserve much needed power. Where did this water come from? Why was it hot? And what did I do to become the ugly step sister?? We laughed as she came from the bathroom, clean and refreshed. I proudly stated "Just call me Cinderella" as I went back to my planning for the day ahead!

Nettie is the Mommy!

Netzanette was really into shopping. She wanted it all! She would point to jewelry and before you could answer her silent request for it to be bought for her, she would be trying to put it on. She had to be on a short leash when shopping. She loved the clothes, loved the jewerly, and LOVED her new doll.

Kim had found a cloth doll that was dressed in tradional Ethiopian clothing. The doll was flatish (I know, that isn't a word yet!). She had huge eyes, big arms and legs, and a cloth scarf that matched the dress. I wanted to get my girls dolls, too, but this doll was less than beautiful and hardly reflected the beauty that the Ethiopian women really do have. Anyway, it was the doll that Nettie needed and wanted and likely the best money that Kim spent on our trip.

This doll went everywhere with us. And what was amazing, was to see how Nettie played with this doll. Nettie was the mom, and this was her baby. It was like looking into a time machine for us- a glimpse into Netza's past. Nettie got home and began to put real clothes onto this 12 inch doll. She would laugh. She would put the doll to sleep and wrap the doll's head with the scarf, tucking her in for "the long night ahead". And the cutest thing happened, she wanted to carry the doll on her back the way the people in Ethiopia carry their babies. They take a large piece of cloth and tie the baby onto their back, stomach of the baby is to the back of the mother. Nettie would throw her baby up over her head, holding the hands. Then try and hold the baby still and put the scarf that came with her over the baby's back. She clearly did not have enough hands for this so hired Mom for the job. Kim TRIED and TRIED to tie the baby and Nettie would get more and more mad. Though the baby was tied and it looked right to us, it was NOT right and Nettie knew it. She would pull the baby from her back in complete disgust, only to ask for it to be done again. I tried. I was no better, apparently! Anyway, it was really neat to see. She did know how to take care of the baby and it encouraged us that someone, at some point, took care of her.

Bees to Honey

Souvenier shopping wasn't all that we hoped. It wasn't that there weren't many items of great interest. They were all made of local woods, grasses, bone, wool, etc and very unique to the area. The clothes were truly amazing and Kim was sure that everyone in her family needed atleast 2 outfits. No, there was plenty to buy and the prices were cheaper than one could even imagine. It almost felt wrong to purchase something for so little- like we were stealing in a way. The part that was so very difficult were the children.

Children saw our car pull up. They had no doubt that we were tourists and no doubt that we had money and intended to spend it on unnecessary items to put on a shelf or give to a family member's coffee machine back home. This place was unlike the place I wrote about earlier with the police. There was no one keeping back the beggers and from little shop to little shop, all about 4 foot wide with the owner standing in front as they do in Mexico, the people were like bees to honey. And I guess this honey was sticky because even though Kim and I knew better than to reach in our bags for food or money, the children stuck to us the whole time we attempted to shop.

Kim does not much like to shop anyway. Basically, she went into one store that sold traditional clothing and stayed there. When she tried to leave, the children were overwhelming to her and she was really ready to go. I had visited several shops while she was looking for corrected sizes and such... bought some native pottery, a little wall hanging, and some spoons. I loved their wooden spoons with cow horn handles that had been painted. (No, the horn wasn't as it is on a cow, it was carved and looked like ivory.) Anyway, back toward one of the first booths I visited, a persistant boy trying to sell gum wouldn't give me space. I pulled him aside and quietly told him that if he let me be, I would give him food on our way out. That he could not tell his friends, and I would give it to him out the car window. It bought me some space, and I intended to keep my promise.

Kim and I, both a little stressed from trying to shop in this already stressful day, decided to cut it short and finish at another time. Tom cleared a path to the car and we both got in, Nettie on hip. I reached into by bag and pulled out one of our last PowerBars. He took it. And then it was as if I didn't see what happened. Tom had turned the car around, and the boy apparently handed off his gum to another child. He placed his hands onto the driver's window which was half rolled down and asked for money, just 1 Birr. I told him no, that I had already given it to him. The car went a bit faster. He begged and kept pace with us. I looked at Kim. I looked at Tom. I repeated my answer.

My mind was starting to spin as the car went faster. Tom was being careful to not hurt him as he accelerated. We all expected that he would let go and give up. As my mind raced, I weighed the pros and cons. If I paid him, he would likely do it again to the next car. And he may very well get hurt and become one of the cripples we would see at most every intersection. If I didn't pay him, we may be the ones to cripple him. The car sped up. My eyes grew big with shock and worry and Tom finally snaps at me ," Just pay him a birr". I did. I immediately did. I just needed someone to tell me what to do. As we drove off, Tom said that in Amharic he was saying that I had promised him food or money when we left. Which I gave him the food I promised him as soon as we got in the car. I was confused. Had I in some way caused this? Was this child aware of just how dangerous he was being? If he was aware, was he just that desperate? Kim, Tom, and I were shaken for some time.

Bibles and Balls

So in all of this, Kim and I had decided that we were going to buy a bible for every child at the Hope for the Hopeless. We had decided it earlier in the day and now that the embassy and visa situation was clearly out of our hands, we had some shopping to do.

Tom had a friend of a friend that owned a book store. We drove around looking for it and then found that it had been moved to a back alley. And lucky us, it was closed. About an hour after the search for this store began, Tom was not eager to give up. He called and found that it was an inventory day and that with a purchase as large as ours, they would accomodate us coming in if were wern't opposed to leaving without a receipt. Kim and I laughed. We had not gotten a receipt for one thing we had bought to this point and didn't even know that they knew what a receipt was! We agreed to buy knowing that we would not be looking to exchange or return!

We stepped in and purchased 50 Bibles in Amharic. Each Bible cost 47 birr ($4.70) and they were nice quality leather bound books. We were pleased. We also bought 4 soccer balls of the highest quality you can find there which is just a vinyl ball for 30 birr each. While buying the soccer balls, I got approached by a boy and his brother. The boy asked if he could have a ball and Tom quickly shooed the boy away. I stopped him in his tracks and told the boys I would buy them a ball. After all, it was only $3 to me and I knew it would mean the world to these kids. Tom encouraged me to buy the cheaper one and I refused. I told the boys that it was because Jesus loved them and they smiled with delight as they ran off to their mother whom was working in a shop down the way that they also lived in. Kim said that I couldn't see but the boys were so overjoyed as they ran off that they litterally were glowing. As we drove off, I pointed to my camera to ask if I could take a picture and the boy proudly raised his new ball for me to capture. It made my heart happy! So simple and yet it meant so much.

We Meet a Little Grown Man

As I stated, it was not all without purpose. It never is, right?

In our quest to get the passport, Tom had to take us back to the orphanage where we had picked up Nettie. There were many errands that only Kim could do and obviously, poor Nettie just needed to rest. I took Nettie and propped her against my arm and the door so that she could lie down and nap. Kim went in and out of the car, doing the necessary things. Well, this lands us back to the rough road into Nettie's orphanage. And Tom doesn't know the way. As I mentioned before, there are few street signs so getting confused is easy to do.

Tom pulls up to a young boy on the street and asks him in Amharic where to go. The boy agrees to hop in and show us the way. The boys eyes seem a little lazy or just hard to focus. He does not smile. He casts a glance back to us without acknowledging our presence. He tells us to turn, then to turn again. We are closer, and yet still lost. The car door next to the boy opens a crack as the boy motions to get out but Tom stops him, telling him that once we are done, we will take him back where we picked him up. The boy agrees and reaffirms his place in the seat.

We finally make our way. Kim runs in to get the paperwork and I wait in the car with Nettie resting peacefully for now over and hour in my lap. I ask Tom to translate for me.

What is your name? How old are you? Do you live around here?

He was 12 years old, his name too hard to write or rember, and yes, he lived with his uncle.

What happened to your parents?

He lived in the country and his mom died from an eye disease, his dad from a stomach illness.
He works as a gardener for 3 meals a day and 50 birr a month (that is $5). With that money, he buys his education and his exercise book. He sleeps on the floor next to his Uncle's bed.

Are you happy?
The child has yet to make eye contact with me. He has yet to have any expression of emotion on his face. And still, as stoic as can be, he answers that if he lived in the country still, he would have no one and this is better than that.

Puddles form in my eyes. I verify with Tom, " He is not happy, is he?" Tom shakes his head and looks down, softly saying no.

The boy looks at me as I wipe the tears off my cheek as they roll down. I didn't want to cry before the children. I just could not help it this time. Kim returns to find me the mess that I am. I tell her about the boy and she places her hands on his shoulders as we drive back. She prays in silence over him and together, we agree to give cash to this boy. Kim pulls 100 birr from her belt and places it in his hand. This is two months wages for this boy. Likely the most he has ever received in one sum. He makes eye contact and nods in thanks. We tell him to hide the money as he gets out of the car at his original pick up point, and from there, we cry our way back toward the embassy.

I am sure I don't need to explain why we were so sad, but I will, in case it is only something understood by being there. This child is considered a success in Ethiopian culture. He is not begging. He is working, going to school, and has a place to go home to every night. The fact that the child is emotionally numb and bankrupt, that he works all day and then studies all night... that he knows no joy and even when given a great gift can not find a smile in his spirit... Wow... how very, very wrong. And yet, how can we not feel some what good for this boy because atleast he does sleep under a roof at night and get food every day. Many of the children around him have neither. It was simply too much to take in.

Finally, A Satisfied Stomach

So I told you that the day was a stressful one. That doesn't mean that it wasn't a day full of God's purpose. The orphanage took up the morning. We still had not heard from Grace. We were hungry at at this point, just needed to get some good food into us. Tom knew a place and he took us there. It was a restaurant we fell in love with. We asked for fast food, thinking of something in a to-go bag that would likely take 5 minutes to make. And this is what we got.

It was by a photo place and Nettie needed 2 pictures for her paperwork. We got that taken care of and then we headed up stairs and got a seat in a crowded little diner. So apparently, and after trying our theory in several ways, ther is no fast food. We sit down, ask for a menu in English, and yes, I order a Fanta. I order the MOST FABULOUS meat and rich dish. And Kim orders the same. The boys order spaghetti and meatballs and it looked like true Italian sauce. YUM! Now Nettie had enough of the day already. This made an already stressful day for Kim- well... worse. Kim had to leave the restaurant with her stomach half full. Later returning for an attempt to fill her and Nettie up. I felt bad for poor Nettie. She had done so much transitioning in the past couple of days and had been so good through it all. She was tired. She was hungry... and most certainly, she was confused. So this amazing meal came to 89 birr for all 5 of us to eat and drink. Yes, that is $8.90 US dollars. I tipped as I always did- about 30%. This always takes the servers back. No one there does that. We even got asked if we made a mistake one time by the server. I assured her that I did not. Then the manager followed up her questioning and stood in shock as I told him that I was certain that I intended to leave the tip. Anyway, how could I not. The WHOLE meal, the best meal I had eaten, was only a couple dollars per person.

So as to not bring back the real stress of the day as I write. Or as not to cause poor Kim a meltdown as she recalls the events while reading my blog, let's suffice it to say that getting the passport and the visa proved to take up the ENTIRE rest of our day through supper time. And though we got the passport, we did not get the visa and had little hope of getting it on Monday. This meant that there was a very low chance of Kim leaving on Monday when she had planned. But again, it was all a part of God's plan even though it wasn't part of ours!

Life in the Country

So another night of shallow sleep. Every night was of shallow sleep. Dogs howling like the scene in 101 Dalmations where they are spreading news of the missing puppies, except it doesn't end. One dog starts it and then they all join in. Why are they howling? I am not sure. They are all hungry and thin. Without enough food to feed the people, there is nothing left for pets. Certainly the local people are bothered by the noise as well, right? I was given some ear plugs by Kim and put them under my pillow. Seems I can get to sleep fine, but the constant noise seems to keep me alert. And then I really can't handle it once the music starts. That is the point at which the discomfort of the ear plugs is well worth it.

Today we got our new driver. His name was Tom. He was quite different than Lsanu. He was a well dressed and handsome man. Kim said he made her hot! I was shocked! She was married and picking up her baby for goodness sakes! Then she revealed she was talking about how warm he dressed, which was true. It was rainy season while we were there and though it was hot outside, it was there coldest time thus everyone dressed as we dress in the dead of winter in Arizona (which of course is still moderate due to our warm temperatures). Anyway, he was on time and his car was in a more stable condition, so we were off to a good start. Until we got into the car and realized that he was not the gentleman we were used to. He did not open our doors. He did not carry our bags. I guess we all have our good and bad, and for now, I was thrilled with his "good's" and we were on our way.

Where we were going and when was all up in question this day. Top priority was obtaining Nettie's passport so that we could apply for a traveling visa for her. Grace had the passport and we were unable to get ahold of her. The lady heading the home where she was staying was frustrated with our english and irritated for the time we took of her, so we were at a dead end. We decided to get on with what the Lord had brought us to do and in the event we heard from Grace, we would just take a detour for the passport and resume with the day as time allowed.

So Tom took us back to the street home to pick up Fikadu. The big gate slid open at the short honk of our horn. And today- the kids lit up as they saw us. They were eager to greet us and wore ear to ear grins at our sight. It felt so good. And so very right.

As we drove out of the town , up and then down a steep hill, we saw country women with large piles of sticks tied to their backs. They were down trodden from the intense hike but wore determination on their faces. They were taking their sticks to town to sell as fire wood. There were men carrying bushels of eggs, one on each end of a large wooden pole that was resting across their back as they walked. Two men to one pole so that they could take turns with the heavy, yet delicate load. And then there were mules in which wooden boxes were made to fit along their backs with produce from the country side. The nearest little town which was where we were headed, took 25 minutes by car to get to from Addis. This was the walk in which all of these people and animals were headed. Now that is work.

The countryside was better than I had imagined. As we drove out of the smoke and smog, out of the smells of filth and urine, out of the tin propped homes and begger ridden streets, there was this beautiful, lush, clean countryside. It reminded me of driving in Northern California's wine country. The houses were not big, but bigger. The people were purposeful working to sort grains and produce. The streets were clean and for the first time, I felt a real peace come over me.

We pulled off the main road and not to far. There it was. There were acres of land that Hope for the Hopeless had bought and begun contructing their future boys and girls home on. Two dormatories were already built of concrete cinder block. Water had been run to the property. A foundation for a dining hall and kitchen was in place. There was land to build a total of nine dorms on. This one facility would house over 360 children one day. And it was truly beautiful. I had visions of the children working in the garden, playing football, talking over the fence to the boy who road backward on his donkey just for laughs. I could see this being an amazing place of healing for these children that had lost so much. It would be a place for them to be educated, cared for, trained in trades, and spiritually fed. They could leave behind the city life, the street life. They could start fresh breathing in fresh air and playing in lush, green grass. This was a true place of hope for these children. It felt so great.

We wanted to see where the children would go to church upon the completion of construction. It was only about a five minute drive to a tall barn like building with large glass windows forming a cross on the front. The gate was closed and we stepped out of our car to take pictures. The country children stopped and stared in amazement. Had they seen white folks before? I think if they had, it had been a really long time. Kim went to the car and brought them out some candy. They lit up with joy.

The logistics of getting this project complete are tough. There is not enough money. Not enough man power. And yet, as the project is stalled, the government can seize the land for it not being completed "on time". And the project has to be guarded by the super intendant daily which results in cab fare and labor expense even when construction is not under way. And yet, with no ongoing sponsorship, the two existing dorms are 80% complete. The dining hall is 10% complete. And God has protected the land from being seized already one time.

As we drove away, I was in awe. I could see a normal life in the country for a family like mine. Kim was ready to move there right then, I think! It was truly amazing. It was beautiful and right. The people were beautiful and right. And yet, the news that is coming out of the countrysides are stories of children being orphaned to disease and famine. The scarcity of food is causing people to mix dirt with their grains to make it stretch further and orphans are coming to the city at record rates to try and survive. Addis is growing exponentially with jobless, and most often times, parentless settlers. Now that I have been there, it is not hard to believe. I do believe it. I have seen it. It is not hard to believe, or to imagine. Just hard to accept.

Fasica

We had to cut our visit at Hope for the Hopeless short because of more embassy paper work. This turned out to be a typical thing for us to have to deal with day in and day out, with the exception of the weekend. Nothing ever really seemed to be the end with Nettie's papers but today was the day that they finalized the adoption on the Ethiopian end. Her blood work was drawn the day before and today she would be processed. We waited, and then it happened. In true anticlimatic style, we left and Nettie was officially Kim and Gary's baby! That was cause for celebration and Grace, the director from her agency, had invited all 4 families that were adopting that day, to join her at a cultural restaurant called Fasica that night.

We went back to the guest house for some much needed rest and asked Lsanu to pick us up and join us for dinner. We would also pick up Dess.

Our car full arrived at the restaurant first. It was obvious that this was a place locals could not afford. It was very elaborate. There was even a hand dryer in the bathroom! Walking into the dining area we passed security. And then the dining hall was amazing. Huge paintings adorned their ceilings. Little stools were all about for the guests to sit at. Yup, I ordered a fanta. Dess was a gentleman and ordered for us all. That was nice. He knew what we would like. The other members of the party arrived one at a time over the next half hour.

Food was served and then music began to play. Singers stepped up to the microphone and then dancers dressed in wigs, dresses, etc came forth to represent their culture in Ethiopia. For those of you that have been to the cultural center in Hawaii, it was not unlike that. Really neat. Really, really neat. Of course, Nettie knew her dance. Lsanu even took a turn at dancing though he says that his religion is too conservative for that and he only did it to make us happy. We enjoyed nice conversation and the food was pretty good. Darn that injera, though!

I saw my first coffee ceremony. Ethiopia claims that they were the first to discover coffee. They roast it over open flames and then grind it with motor and pestal. They lay grass beneath the cups and light some incents over charcoal. It smells so good. They use a ceremonial pot and pour a first serving into what we would call VERY small cups. Every drinks. Then they serve a second round out of the same pot. Everyone drinks again. Now they pour water into the coffee in the pot to fill it back up. They pour another round of now dilluted coffee and then repeat this one more time. This is considered three rounds since it is dilluted three times, but yet you get 4 cups! Three, four... who knows! Anyway, a very neat tradition.

We head to the car and the car doesn't start. We get a push and then off we are to Dess's mom's house. It was a nice house and we were invited inside. We could not stay long. Nettie was very tired and Lsanu had to stay in the car and keep it running. There was a dog in a tiny metal cage at the door. He is never allowed out and is only to act as a security alarm for the gate. The house was very nice and only cost Dess $40,000 to build. It was no mansion but was really quite nice with a seating area, linoleum floors, plastered walls, plumbing and electricity.

It was late. Very late. 11:00 by this time and we needed some rest. Tomorrow would prove to be our first stressful day!

Ordinary AMAZING kids

The street home was amazing. Again, a large door was opened and our car went inside. From outside appearances, no one would know what was behind the gate. Inside, we were welcomed by timid children. They were slow to make eye contact. They were not generous with smiles. We waived and shook hands with the employees before being welcomed inside. The first room was a worship center. It was beautifully done with red curtains, wood benches, and a large cross. Jesus bumper stickers could be found here and there. They have service a few times a week in the hall and have devotionals daily.

I was then taken around the corner to the office. Fikadu is the director of all the homes and he was eager to welcome me in and have me sit before him. He took out the first folder. It contained the police report and care report for all the boys in care. Next was the girl's folder. Then was a folder of children that we would consider either adopted or in a long term foster care situation. Last was his accounting books. I never asked to see his accounting, but was glad he offered it because I knew that when asking for financial support for Hope for the Hopeless, people would want to know how we knew where it went and what accountability there was for it. Every donation or wire from the states corresponded with a receipt that was carbon copied. The receipt number would log into the book and into an asset entry column. All receipt numbers were accounted for. I was so impressed. It seemed so well organized.

I was taken into their storage area where bags of their grains were kept. I was given the cost and breakdown for the food the children would receive. Then I was shown the little closet where the food was prepared. It was mostly injera and breads that the children were fed. (I will go into diet more at the girls' home.) The next few rooms were crammed full of bunk beds. 14 beds in all. 2 of which were just recently emptied. It was an adequate facility, with a small driveway area for the children to play.

So who were these kids and what were they doing here? The street home is a dropping center. The children are between the ages of 5 and 17 years old, normally in the middle of that range and the police have picked them up off of the street either committing crimes or begging. A police report is presented to Fikadu along with the child. The child is then taken for a medical screening. If the child tests positive to HIV, the child will go to another agency that specializes in care of HIV children and receive government funded medication. If not, the child will remain in the care of the street home for no more than 90 days. The goal of the street home is to find a family for the child to live with. Knowing that all children do best in families and deserve families, every effort is made to place this child with relatives if they can be found. If finances is the reason that the next closest relative can not care for them, they try to work with the family to help with food, clothes, medical care, and education for the child. This allows the extended family to not be burdened financially by the new member as well as ensures that the child's basic needs are met in a loving, family atmosphere. As long as the child is receiving food and care from Hope, the child is monitored to ensure that the family is treating them well and that the child is succeeding.

If no family can be found, the child will be transferred to the next available bed at either the boy home or the girl home. Because the child is not in the street home for more than 90 days, a private tutor is provided to help with reading and writing basics at the street home. A child with no permanent address can not be enrolled in school and this helps to ensure that any educational gap is kept to a minimum.

I was moved. Totally and completely impressed! This is a facility that is taking what society considers "the unadoptables" and is teaching them the truth of Jesus Christ as well as supporting the family structure whenever possible. This is a facility of hope for these children and when looking at the children, you can see that hope is something that many of them have never had.

By the time we were ready to leave and get to our embassy appointment, the children had come to smile and engage. They played some soccer and sang us a bible song. Their problems were gone for the moment and they were happy to pose for pictures. The children here had not been here as long as the children we had seen days prior at the "little kid orphanage". These children were older, street smart, and knew life was uncertain and cruel. They had no promise of being adopted by American parents- only the promise of Christ. My heart went out to each of them.

They hugged us goodbye and we promised to return the next day. They waived and smiled knowing that we brought good with us when we came and that tomorrow, more good would come. We left our first donation bag and drove away.

Sitting Ducks

My journal becomes vague at this point. Every date has a day written with a question mark by it? All time became a blur. What was one day at home was another in Ethiopia. Our sleep was shollow our meals, less than satisfying to this point. We were tired, and hungry. But most of all, we were just caught up in emotional and spiritual confusion. I have never experience this feeling to this extent. Purpose, right and wrong, waste, selfishness vs. selflessness all came into question. Was my life right? Were the things I did enough or did I just justify it to be enough? How did I feel about who and where to adopt my next child? So many thoughts that they litterally clogged my brain. Kim and I had an ongoing joke that between her half a brain (she has a legitimate medical excuse for her other half) and my half a brain- we were one whole brain out to represent the women in America! Look out Ethiopia.

And though I had so much goin on inside, I had no real stress. That is right. How is that possible? I was sad, confused, disoriented and yet overjoyed, pleased, amazed, and overwhelmed with a feeling of being blessed. But NO STRESS! I knew that I was where I was supposed to be. I was learning to let go of myself and not rely on my own understanding, as the Bible has been teaching us all for years. In the confusion and in NOT trying to figure it all out, I found a peace. I was able to crack jokes and laugh. I was smiling, and child like most all of the time. It felt so great. I didn't need a shower to feel at peace. I didn't need a warm meal to make me complete. I needed to LET GO of my own need to fix it all and control it all, and just do what I could with what the Lord lead me to do. (Keep re-reading this part, Brooke.)

So day three is upon us. We are ready to embark on the next BIG part of our trip. It is Hope for the Hopeless. Backround: Pastor Surefel lives in Phoenix. He is a native Ethiopian Christian that during the communist regiem was imprisoned 4 times for preaching his faith. Upon his release last time, he claimed asilem in America and could not go back unless the government fell. The communist party fell out of control in 1989 and Pastor Surefel has committed his life and personal resources to helping further the kingdom in Ethiopia and specifically has been called to orphan care. Surefel has a street home, a boys home, and a girls home. He also has land that he is building a replacment boy and girl home on in an attempt to improve the care as well as to eliminate the rent costs.

Lsanu picks us up. He is late today and offers us no explination. We drive past the Prime Minister's palace and veer to the right. Down past some little stands and then turn off the paved road onto another bumpy and rocky road. Now remember what I told you about Lsanu's car. I am holding my breath as we drive. We waive to the people that are staring in as we pass. We approach an open area from this alley. It is like the center with spokes of roads coming off of it. There are 2 large dumpsters in it. The first and only dumpsters we ever saw there. A boy pulls himself up and into the dumpster, sifting through it for food. Kim thinks we are not being watched at this point and pulls out the video camera. She begins taping with a heavy heart. Mind you, in our culture, we waste perfectly good food and put it into the trash. In their culture, they do not. Anything that would resemble food in this bin would not even be considered as ONCE consumable by American standards. We are both just staring in disbelief.

Then the shouting begins! Kim was caught! Some men had sought relief from the sun by sitting behind a wall which was now within our view. They were very offended that Kim would tape this boy and Kim immediately regretted her decision. She had no ill intentions. She just wanted to show people the lengths that people were going to in order to eat in Ethiopia. There was not even an opportunity to explain. The men were slowing following behind our car, fists raised, and speaking loud Amharic. When we asked Lsanu what they were saying, a smart " I don't know" followed. Apparently he forgot his native language at that moment!

The stress of it all fell on Lsanu and us alike. He had made a wrong turn and needed to go in REVERSE! YIKES! So as we went backward, so did the men following us. Some returned to their spots behind the wall, a few others didn't. Then it happened. Yup... it really did! Right there. Our car got stuck on a rock. It was a big rock that as we approached and I thought to myself "why are we not trying to go AROUND this rock" but given the visible stress on Lsanu's face, I chose to say nothing. He pressed the gas harder. The car rocked forward on the rock. He put it in reverse and we rocked back.

Now here is the amazing part. The people, that moments ago we had offended so deeply, lowered their fists and placed their hands on the rear of the car. They became silent and then pushed us off of the rock. I nodded in gratitude. Lsanu did the same. Kim was in shock and likely remembers nothing past shutting off her camera!!! Do you think that would have happened in LA? Phoenix? We were again moving forward and this time down the right path. We were just moments away from the street home to Hope for the Hopeless.