Remember the village

When I arrived ten year old Fetlework was busy cooking dinner, preparing sauce for the spaghetti with little help from her mom. She chopped and mixed.
Her tall slim body was clothed in blue jeans and a tee shirt. Her head, topped with long, beautiful black hair was gathered into something like a pony tail in the back, and shrouded by the steamy mist as she dropped the pasta into boiling water.

I marveled at how she has changed in two years, from the shy, undernourished wisp of a child into the promise of a beautiful young woman.

Tired of watching, I went to the sofa and opened a map of Ethiopia. Soon she came and sat beside me and together we searched for the location of the village where she was born. It wasn’t there, but the nearest town was.

I surmised that when I visit her brothers in the fall it would probably be a grueling ride on the bus and a long walk to the village.

“Yes, a long long walk” She said.
I wondered. When I visit will the distance I must walk be as great as her young mind remembers?

She thought for a while and began to remember some of the details of her young life with her mother, father and brothers, before both parents died and she had become deaf.

We discussed her past in sign language and voice. She has an incredible ability to communicate.

“The house was made of sticks and had small windows. The windows did not open and close with glass but wood.” she said.

“Was the house round?” I asked.
“I don’t remember.” She replied.

When asked, she said: “My bed was like Yonatan’s ( her brother’s bunk bed) but some slept on the floor. “

“Did the house have a fire in it?” I asked.
“Yes, it was rocks in a circle.”

“Was the fire near the door?”

“I think so, and at night the windows were closed. We could hear the hyenas. They were very loud and sometime I could hear them chew the bones. There were potatoes in the garden but I don’t know if they were sweet.”

She vaguely remembered the other houses where members of her father lived nearby.
We discussed how many years ago did she live there and decided about six. A lifetime to a ten year old.

Her dad and brother returned from their errand and it was time to go to the table.

There will be other times to discuss the village when I have returned with pictures.

Ain't God good?

FEVEN

At Agoheld Orphanage in Addis Ababa she was the very best friend of Fetlework, our "favorite" adopted granddaughter.
I still remember the two girls holding hands during the farewell ceremony when more than 100 children goodbye, we love you.
It was a magical moment, packed with emotion. Tears flowed as the children sang with feeling.

She is no longer living at Agoheld. Her illness is better cared for where she lives now, with her aunt Tsehay, a very attractive woman whose name translated means sun, and surviving sister.

I was able to contact the aunt and visit with the two of them.

We met on a street corner. I suppose the aunt was too embarrassed for me see where they live. The driver took us to a little sidewalk cafe where we talked for an hour or so and I photographed them.

It is not easy to describe the scene. Much auto traffic, throngs of people walking, taxi horns honking, the not so appealing aroma of burning garbage, the gawking stares of other patrons and pedestrians.

We attracted a lot of attention: The lady, the young girl, the taxi driver and the white man (ferengi).

The curiosity is obvious on the faces of the passers in the background of the photo above. I wonder what they thought, but no matter.

Waizero Zeleke wore a blouse and long skirt, and her head and shoulders were covered in the traditional style which most mature women wear at such occasions as a sign of respect.

Her life story was written on her heart shaped face. It described the hardship and sadness of the troubled times she must have experienced.

Feven was dressed in a pink and white hooded sweater and pink sweat pants. They probably came from donated garments at Agoheld. She was heavier than before. The combined effect of care by her loving aunt and financial help from the orphanage was evident. There were scars on her smooth young face. How did they happen? I wouldn't ask.

We were able to communicate mostly in English with the occasional assistance from Daniel, my ever helpful driver/interpreter.

When the time came to leave, Daniel drove to a place where they could get a ride home. I gave them money for that and told Tsehay: "You take good care of those girls."

"You come back. You will see." She replied.

Feven poked her head through the open window, kissed me on the cheek and Daniel drove away.

It was hard to not cry.

First Day of School 2009

It is difficult to imagine two years have passed since God allowed us to "bring home" these two incredible deaf children from Ethiopia.

It is unfortunate the photos from their first time at school have been lost when the lap top where were stored died.

Yonatan, who had no language at age six is now functioning well in school, at home, wherever.....and plays basketball.

Fetlework now ten, is at the top of her class academically, is a star soccer player and a good basketball player.

Copies of this photo and some others will go to Ethiopia later in the year and be given to surviving siblings and friends.

Ain't God good?