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Home Again...

After eighteen hours of flying, we are finally home. I lit the wood burning stove, threw in a load of laundry, hugged my children, thanked God for what I have, for what He has shown me in Africa, and prayed for Mike, Amy, their kids, the people of Ethiopia, and Ganolle...I thanked God for people like the Rodgers, Allison and her family, Laura, the teachers I had met, and the doctors who had been at Langano...and the others who are anonymous to you and I, but have moved to a far away place in order to use their skills to save lives, to educate, and to serve those need it most.

I hope I don't forget about them...returning to the distractions of my life...devoting far too much time to choosing the right paint color for my walls (latte or universal khaki?), and to what I ought to wear to dinner at a friends house (she is always dressed so beautifully!). I suspect the power of the memories will fad a bit, to some extent, at least. But not right now. Right now I will continue to unpack these experiences, one at time, with my children and allow them to sink in and change me.

Thanks for sharing it with us.

The Wild ride back to Addis Ababa

On the 31st, we packed up and headed back to Addis Ababa. Although our plane didn't leave until the evening of the 1st, Mike and Amy had some business in Addis Ababa. Little did I know that Mike, Amy, and Tex had a surprise for me for my birthday (which Tex and I agreed not to mention in order to keep Amy from feeling like she had to do anything special). As we headed back to the Missionary House, Mike took another turn and pulled in to the Addis Ababa Sheraton, the nicest hotel in all of Ethiopia. Roses and Flox line the property, fancy french pastries, all the hot water you can use! It is right across from the Prime Minister's home, the most powerful politician in the country, so it is used for many visiting dignitaries. Super Fancy. As we pulled up and the kids cheered at the mention of the beautiful swimming pool (with no cow manure, the kids pointed out amongst themselves), a lump grew in my throat. It was too much for me. I did my best to hide it, but it threw me back into my amazingly luxurious life too quickly and I had difficulty holding back tears most of the day. Why is that I am born into this American life through no effort of my own? Why is the Ethiopian woman wating at clinic to get food rationed out for her child born into that life? Luck? God's Plan? It has always been a question of reflection for me, but never so powerful as I took a 45 minute scalding hot shower at the fancy hotel. Never has it hit me so hard as when I diliberated over the twenty-some possibilities for my dinner, the price of which would be a couple of weeks, or maybe even a month's salary, for the Ethiopians I had met over in Langano. The life I have always known slowly settled back onto me as the evening wore on, and it bothered me less and less. That is what I hated the most.

Nutrition Day

Today is Tuesday. Tuesday is Nutrition Day at the clinic where people bring their babies who are malnourished, and they are weighed and given a food powder or formula according to their percentile weight and arm measurement. I was “invited” up to clinic by Allsion, the nurse, to check on Ganolle. The news was not good, and they put in a feeding tube this morning. They are contacting her father that he needs to come. She may still turn around, but it needs to happen soon…I am constantly struck by the attitude here regarding life and death. The average babies born to women in Ethiopia is six. THE AVERAGE ! The median age is sixteen. The median age in the US is thirty seven ( I may have made that up, but it is somewhere in the mid-thirties). These women are used to death. In fact, we were shocked when an Ethiopian nurse responded to Allsion's request for the father of Ganolle to come by saying, "Why bother him with this and have him walk all this way if she is just going to die." In America, Ganolle would have doctors upon doctors scrambling to save her. It would be a big deal. Allison is doing everything she can, but there is a general acceptance of death here that just isn't present in the US.

I wandered outside to the Nutrition Day happening outside...primarily to get away from the smells of the inside of the Clinic and suddenly found myself with a job. I was to measure around the arms of the infants, children, and an occasional widow to see if they are putting on at best, or holding at least, their weight. This was really an in-your-face view of Africa and everything you’d expect to see based on the documentaries in Africa: distended bellies, hollow eyes…some better than others. A few cases of malaria, undiaganosed yucky stuff, potential cases of Tuberculious which, I am told, often presents itself as Failure to Thrive in babies. By the way, most of the babies were not very happy after being placed in the "weighing bucket" naked and then swinging around seperated from their mother until their weight is recorded, so when I got to them, most were crying and not very happy to have their arm extended for a measurment. I was told that malnourished babies don’t smile and I was relieved when I got some to smile at me as I took their measurements. Meg, Heather, Anna, John, and Tex all came up to the Clinic, but the kids didn’t last long. It was very hot out, with the blazing African sun magnifying the smells. They were okay with what they were seeing, but decided that hunting warthogs was more to their liking, and I don’t blame them. I left the clinic to go home for lunch. I walked home with my hands outstretched to remind myself not to rub my eyes with my dirty hands. Genet had cooked for us Doro Wat, a spicy chicken dish, cabbage and potatoes, injerra (the sour bread that you use to pick up your meal rather than using a fork), and a few other things that I have no idea what they are called. Quite a filling meal on a stomach that had a rough morning at the Clinic. Delicious, I have to admit.