Trip journal - Day 7

A final note about our Friday night in Ethiopia (a continuation from the previous post)...

As the darkness drew in, the children who always seemed to be playing in the street put on an impromptu show for us. Scott and I heard beautiful children's voices from our downstairs rooms, but could not see over the huge gate surrounding the property. We quickly went up to the third floor balcony, where we saw a sight such as I have never seen in the U.S. So many children I have worked with in the States, and none of them would know how to put on a show like this -- no props, no electricity, no sound system... just pure glee and joy in simplicity. The children formed dancing circles, singing at the top of their lungs in unison. They passed through and around each other in perfect formation, the older children alongside the younger ones. One beautiful older girl was always in the middle of the circles, dancing with the rhythm of a trained dancer, with a glowing smile radiating through her every move. Each song melded into the next, the children always knowing what to do and where to do it. For me, this was one of the highest lights of our Ethiopian experience. Sheer beauty.

I am afraid to say that the former journal entry was my last one from Ethiopia.  The day following that one, Saturday, June 26, we got to do what many of us had been longing to do while in Ethiopia... local shopping!  Scott and I hoped to go to the Mercado -- Ethiopia's largest shopping area -- but Ficker told us it was too crazy and crowded to go there.  Scott and I said to each other, "Isn't that part of the experience??"

Alas, Ficker took us to a shopping row.  He stopped us at the first store, explaining that it had much of the same merchandise as the other stores on the street, but at better prices, and no bartering.  We all liked that idea, and piled in, quickly making stacks of our chosen merchandise.  Every time Scott and I turned around, we found another treasure that we absolutely wanted.  They had the wooden African animals that we had hoped for.  They can children's clothing, which we wanted, so that we could buy outfits for Abel and Adrianna to fit for the coming years.  They had jewelry, purses, pens, and so on.  We were in shopping bliss (Abel... not so much!).  We wanted to be sure to take home a "taste" of Ethiopia.  And with each of the souvenirs at mere dollars, it was hard to resist taking away more!

After leaving the first wonderful store, we went to the remaining shops on the street.  Ficker was right; compared to the first, they were small, hectic, and over-priced.  Many of them had the same exact merchandise we had purchased at the first store, but with prices almost twice as high.

We concluded our shopping trip with a collection of woven and wooden giraffes, elephants, impalas, and a seated hippo (of which Ficker asked, "What's wrong with that hippo?  He looks dead!"  Scott and I just thought he had great personality.).  We also found an Ethiopian-style clock, several pieces of artwork, and clothing for Scott, Adrianna, Abel, and me.

After encountering the street vendors and children asking for money for several hours, we were a little overwhelmed.  One street vendor showed us his kids' lizard sunglasses, perfect (as he said) for Abel.  I blurted out, "They're so cute!" so of course, the man wouldn't leave us alone.  Finally, after Scott said, "NO," at least half a dozen times, the man went away.  I turned to Scott and told him how I liked the glasses.  He said he kind of did, too!  Scott checked to see that his current cash was running low, so he actually approached the vendor (who approaches them?!) and told him we would buy it for 10 birr.  The man had originally told Scott they were 40 birr, and acted a little offended by Scott's offer.  Scott showed him, "This is what I have left."  "No, 20." The man said.  The exchange started getting more passionate, but the man actually said, "Okay, 14."  It was our one barter that morning where we actually felt like we walked away with the better end of the deal.

After a brief rest, some of our group headed to the Bright Hope School, in what might be termed, "inner-city Addis Ababa."  The location was hardly like any inner-city I had seen before -- it was even more lush than the green parts of the city we had already been in.  And it was higher than much of the city, on a hillside, overlooking green hills.  Thick vegetation lent privacy to the poor shacks.  The guides said that many of the poorest people in the city lived here.  The school is a public school, with projects funded in part by our agency.  Due to the poverty of the area, the school has extra needs to meet for the community.  A well was just completed, which will not only allow the children to have water at school (before, they had to go from 8:00 am to 4:00 pm with no water), but it will allow the children to take clean water home to their families (which otherwise, few have access to).  The school is working to become sustainable -- planting vegetable gardens and raising chickens.  Hearing of the work that is going on there was just inspiring. 

And being shown a genuine African classroom was a dream-come-true to me.  Ever since I was a child, when I saw "The Gods Must Be Crazy," with an American woman teaching children in Africa, it had been a dream of mine to do the same.  Even in high school, I wrote reports about how that might be something I would like to pursue.  Being in those classrooms, seeing the cement walls and the dozens of desks crowded into a room, seeing the dusty blackboards, and the lack of decor, there was something inside of me that still had a passion.  Maybe someday I will return to fulfill that longing -- either on a short-term trip or otherwise.  Until then, I will let God be the keeper of my dream.

Of course, our tour of the grounds was the one down-pour we were caught in (in itself, that is rather a miracle, as we went in the rainy season!).  So, in my brand new Ethiopian flip flops, I squished my way across the acres of property in my rain slicker, with Abel in his rain slicker in the Ergo pack.  Thankfully, the inspiration of the work being done there out-weighed the discomfort of the down-pour, the mud, and the slippery rock pathways.

After returning to the guest house, three of the families prepared to leave for the airport around 8 pm.  They were busily packing away their new treasures, while Scott and Abel and I hung out with them as much as possible for our last moments together.  Dinner that night was quiet, as we all seemed to know the weight of the departure...  Our "honeymoons" with our new children were drawing to a close; it was time to return to our lives in the U.S., with jobs and siblings, and preparing meals and cleaning up.  It had been a sweet time of fellowship and union with the children we all had waited for.

With a few tears, we said, "Goodbye" to the three departing families and took our leave for the night.  It was somber and quiet in the guest house.  Only we and one other family remained.