A Lesson in Humility

Days 6 & 7:
We began by visiting several government orphanages. The first orphanage housed young men ages 11 - 18, the second orphanage housed young children, and the third orphanage housed older girls and sibling groups. Each orphanage humbled us as we witnessed some of the most challenging living conditions.

Kolfe, the older boys center, was the most devastating. Upon arrival Samuel said, "Shinta" meaning "potty" in Amharic. I immediately looked at Todd thinking, "You're going to have to take this one." I owe him big time. The bathroom was a mere outhouse with a hole in the ground; the smell and the sight was atrocious and caused us to "ache" at how these boys were living.

The living centers were not any better. Although the boys were tidy and took great pride in their surroundings, the accomodations were extremely poor. I wondered what it was that made them want to get up each morning and what is was that kept them hopeful as I personally think I would have felt a sense of defeat and hoplessness.

The second orphanage housed many young children who were younger in age. The children immediately surrounded us, asking to have their pictures taken. A woman with whom we were traveling brought a polaroid camera and the children took great pride in their photos, showing them to us again and again, and continued waving them despite the fact they had been fully developed. I don't think they understood that when the picture appeared, you could stop activating the film.

The most memorable scene occurred when we saw young girls hiding their faces from us. They had been part of a tribal community which tatooed them as infants. The tatoos eventually became outdated and faded and caused the girls great embarassment -thus spuring them to hid their faces, cover them with cloth, and pull their hair around their faces to conceal the tatoos. What a delicate matter and a delicate age to have to experience such battles with self-esteem.

One young boy approached us saying, "Hello, how are you? What nationality are you? Do you live in New York?" I could sense from his dialogue a certain desperation for attention, for hope and the ambition of winning over a family of his own. He noticed 2 cars in my bag that I had taken away from Samuel earlier in the day and he asked if he could have them. How could I resist? After all, Samuel will always have cars. I pulled the cars out and handed them over to him as he beamed with joy. Oh what things we take for granted! These children have no possessions of their own.

The sight of these orphanges was hard to stomach, but even worse was the smell that seemed to hover. There were so many people and such small spaces for everyone; I wondered what it would be like to never have a private moment of your own - to always share everything and constantly be surrounded by other people.

There was a blind infant who was barely walking and as we entered the infant room we noticed him latching on to the first set of legs he could find. Apparently this is his routine - find legs, attach, giggle. Another boy was completely imobile, blind and had severe medical demands. Each day he laid in his crib just starving for someone to come by, pat his head and show an ounce of affection. I secretly wished I could fly every American teenager over to Addis to show them these scenarios - to gently remind them of what it means to truly "do without and be grateful for whatever it is you have." I too need reminder of such lesson.

It was this day that I experienced a great deal of homesickness - the longing for a good shower, clean air away from the diesel smog, and familiar foods. It was getting more and more difficult to begin our life as a family so far away from home.
Samuel kept asking, "America? Airplane?" I could tell he had been prepped for what a "goldmine" America would be.

Driving home we passed a woman on the street who had been severely burned - one side of her face revealed raw flesh. She was unable to move and the hump on her back revealed a massive tumor. I gasped outloud as Samuel pointed her out to us. Around the corner we saw a woman sleeping on the curb, an open wound on her foot was a feast for flies. She just laid there - no movement - no attempt to rid them. It was if she had given into her fate.

These scenes become exhausting in a sense. I dare say we became immune to them, as the poverty begins to weigh you down immensely. It's as if there are so many problems and such great need that you don't know where to begin.

The next day we went out with the group to the Leprosy Clinic just outside of Addis. Every linen, every bag, every rug was made by hand by the people living at the compound. We watched as the cotton was spooled into thread, the thread transfered to rustic sewing machines which later create the most beautiful handmade goods. These goods sustain the community of people who work daily to produce something of value for others.

Later that afternoon we bartered again in the city and spent the evening at the Hill Bottom Cafe - which became our staple on the trip. I closed my eyes as homesickness settled in around me...