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.