I have been thinking a lot about the differences between my trip in 1998 to South Africa that I previously wrote about and the one I am preparing for now to Ethiopia.
For starters, I knew very little history of Ethiopia when I committed to going on this trip and quite frankly still don't. When I went to Cape Town I'd poured through volumes of books and even minored in African history with an emphasis on South Africa in college (who knew UT offered so much diversity?) So, I decided before I could board the plane I had to get a base knowledge about the country and it's people.
It may start becoming obvious through this blog that I am a big fan of Emily and Moody Alexander. To say I "single white female" her on some things would not be an exaggeration. It's like friends who share a bond over coffee or shoes - only slightly deeper. It is a love for a place that no one can describe - yet you know exactly what they mean without saying a word. When she recommended the book There is No Me Without You I got it.
Now once upon a time in my life I read books. This time would have been after I had to cram 200 pages each night for the next day's class but before I starting thinking going to bed when the kids did was really not that bad of an idea. Back when I worked during the day and Chris worked at night and before I could fill my free time with Keeping up with the Kardashians. Back during that magical time I read books. Lots of books. One book after another. Then two humans started growing inside of me and they took all the energy I had. Then they started growing outside of me and took more energy that I thought I could muster. So when I buy a book now it is with good intentions but doesn't generally get read until Christmas break when I don't feel bad about letting the kids watch 12 straight hours of TV because it is too cold to go outside.
This book was different. From the first page I stared to get a glimpse of what my upcoming experience is going to be like. I thought back to the shantytowns I had been in outside of Cape Town and Johannesburg. I could see the desperation in the eyes of the people tempered with the determination to stand up and do something. I began to think about the contrasts of these two countries.
While South Africa has a horrific past it has birthed a nation of heroes. Men and women who sacrificed their lives to emerge from their banishment as the leaders of a new nation - the fulfillment of a grand dream. The people who had suffered the most were able to see one of their own rise up and carrying them with him on his shoulders like any proud father would. Ethiopia has not been as fortunate. It's heroes come in the form of a middle-class woman who lost everything she had and out of desperation took in some unwanted children. She was in the pit of dispair and saw in these children salvation - they needed each other to survive. The book follows the plight of Haregewoin Teferra, a widow who experiences the death of one of her children and essentially becomes the dumping ground for all of the children in Addis Ababa whose parents had succummed to the AIDS epidemic or had reach the end of their ability to feed another mouth, no matter how small. It's a vivid depiction of a woman whose love of children comes at a great personal cost. It's the story of someone who much like the Mandelas of South Africa was not willing to stand by and let a human being be treated with anything less than respect and awe as the divine creature God created them to be.
So I begin to see one of the sharpest contrasts between my past experience in Africa and the one I am about to embark on. Ethiopia still waits for it's leaders to rise up and take the "least of these" with him. What I anticipate will be the same is the unbreakable spirit of the people. The drive that each woman working with HIV-positive orphans has in the way she cares for the children who have been abandoned there by death or more brutally by choice. Ethiopia's heroes are not walking hallowed halls as lawmakers or politicians - they are walking the dingy floors of nurseries changing diapers and quieting cries. They are giving bottles and chasing away nightmares. They will never have their face on a T-shirt, but their acts will be imprinted on the hearts of the countless children they love like their own.
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