Ethiopia trip recap: Day 3

My journal on day three of our Ethiopian trip says this:

"September 11, 2011.

Today will forever go down as one of my favorites.

My birthday has been redeemed."

For a decade now, there has been a dark cloud over my birthday. Just telling people the date elicits people's memories of where they were on September 11th. I've never wanted a big party or a lot of fancy gifts and now that I'm getting older, I'd rather just the day pass without much more than a handmade card from my kids.

When we were researching Ethiopian adoptions, The Hero and I learned that Ethiopians celebrate New Years on Septebmer 11th. I thought that was symbolic; The Hero and I were getting a fresh start to our family through Ethiopia but it would provide a good reason for jubilation on a day that needs some redemption.

But nothing prepared me for being IN Ethiopia ON New Years.

Our team was up early and we headed to church. I've heard for a long time that Africans as a continent can do them some church, but I know now why Moses married an Ethiopian woman...she could ROCK some praise music.

The services was three hours and we were all exhausted and filled with joyful noises to our Maker. We headed to a cafe for lunch and our daily necessity of macchiatos. During the meal, Sisay and Yemamu disappeared and returned with a white, double layered birthday cake.

I couldn't hold back the tears.

The looks on their faces were pure delight. I had never seen anyone else who could get more fun out of giving than these two men.

I adore the fact there was not enough room to put the 'y' on Lindsey.

As the team sang 'Happy birthday' and we finished cake, I asked a stupid question. I had wanted to ask Yemamu if he had ever had a birthday cake of his own. What I asked was "did you ever have birthday cake as a child?" Yemamu's face was all teeth and grin as he nodded and said "Oh yes Lindsey. The Sheraton trash truck."
Ouch.
My dear friend, my brother in Christ who had grown up in Korah and dug through the trash dump for his necessities had also found some sweet memories there as well. The fact that he and many, many like him could distinguish delicacies from which trash truck they were in broke my heart. And these two sweet men had bought me a birthday cake. I am sure they had never bought one for themselves or even one another. It truly was one of the most humbling experiences of my life.

Since our paperwork had not yet cleared the Ethiopian government, Hands for the Needy was still unable to feed the kids in our program. Yemamu and Sisay explained that even though tomorrow was Monday, it would be a holiday and everyone would be with their families. Except the boys at the dump. We asked if we could prepare a meal and take it to them to celebrate the holiday and buy the meal out of the funds that our team had brought. Yemamu and Sisay were delighted and we jumped into the van to buy a sheep.

What?
A sheep?

We headed to the sheep market (I didn't know there was such a thing) where hundreds of people and sheep milled around, haggling and tying up animals which would soon be a holiday feast. Yemamu and Sisay engaged in aggressive negotiations over a particular animal and this proved to be quite the lengthy process. Sisay was giving me the play by play as to what you look for in a good sheep.
-Check his nose to make sure he isn't sick.
-Check the backbone towards his rump, if it's fatty, he's healthy.
-Open his mouth and look at his teeth to make sure he isn't too old.

As we finalized negotiations, we paid 700 birr (roughly $41.00) for what the boys determined to be a fine specimen and Yemamu estimated he would feed at least 60 people.
As the sheep followed along behind us, one thought kept flashing through my head.
How are we getting Mr. Sheep to Sisay's mom (who would be butchering him and making the meal)?


Mr. Sheep riding in our van.

After we delivered Mr. Sheep to his final resting place, Yemamu and Sisay asked if we wanted to attend a New Year's Eve party.
Well, yes!
Yemamu explained that it is customary on Ethiopian New Year to attend an all night church service thanking God for what He did in the previous year and praying for what He would do in the upcoming year.
We picked up K and off we went.
The service was packed. Elbow to elbow these people stood, dancing and praising and jumping. It was incredible to watch. The entire service was in Amharic and while I wanted very much to be reverent, K was extremely bored by hour two and I pulled out a bouncy ball that my mother-in-law had packed for him (I love that woman. While I was packing him undies and clothes, she packed candy and toys).
We played and goofed off for the better part of an hour. Until he started to fall asleep. Since I didn't have any where for him to lay down, Yemamu called us a cab and our team headed home, while Yemamu and Sisay stayed behind to finish their prayer vigil.

As we said good night, K hugged my neck and kissed my cheek and asked again:

"Mama. I see you tomorrow?"

"Absolutely my son."

If you would have told me ten years ago that my favorite birthday yet was in a dirt floor church, making booger jokes with an eleven year old, I'd have thought you were drinking.

But I would have not understood how funny boogers can actually be.

Ethiopian trip Recap: Day Two; Part Two

18 months is a long time. For an 11yr old boy, it's almost an eternity.

Of course, we had written letters back and forth and I had prayed for him every day,

but I'd be lying if I didn't tell you that I had wondered whether or not K would even

remember me.

Yemamu had not yet told him that I was in Ethiopia.

He had only said he was coming to get him for dinner.

As the door of the van opened and our dinner date climbed inside,

we both squealed with delight at seeing one another.

We hugged and cried and laughed all the way to dinner.

His English was amazing, so much so that we needed very little translation.

He kept telling The Hero and I that he had missed us and that he was so glad

we were with him.

When we got bored of talking, the photobooth app on my ipad

was very entertaining.

VERY entertaining.

Since I had spent most of the day asking kids in our program what they wanted to be,

it seemed mandatory that I ask K the same thing.

He didn't miss a beat.

He smiled and said "I want to be Yemamu."

I tried very hard to hold back the tears, but since I had seen

first hand Yemamu's unending love for those around him,

other than Jesus, I couldn't imagine K could have a better role model.

As we said goodnight, my son leaned in and asked me one thing.

"Mama, I see you tomorrow?"

Absolutely my son. Absolutely.

ET Trip Recap: Day Two; Part One

We were up early for our second day in Ethiopia. Our team couldn't wait to get to the center and meet all of our kids. We decided to take a couple of the soccer balls that we had brought along and headed out for the day.
Our center is inside of Korah but only a two minute walk from our guest house. That was the first thing I remembered about Ethiopia, walking every where. I loved it. Since we still didn't have our paperwork from the government, we were not allowed to legally feed the kids we were wanting to assist, so we were just allowed to play and profile the kids. That was the only instruction I needed.


We handed a soccer ball to some kids that were standing inside the gate and I took the other inside our community center. There were about ten kids inside and I thought about just tossing the ball to them so they could play. Then I saw her. A teenager. Leaning against her wooden cane toward the back of the small building. She smiled at me and hobbled forward. I put the ball on the ground and lightly moved it her direction. Her face exploded with a smile and she steadied herself and kicked it back.

While The Hero and the rest of the team played thumb wars and a hand slapping game, me and my new friend Thisgae kicked the ball back and forth for almost a half hour, before Yemamu came to get me for a tour of the facility grounds and to start profiling the kids. Our center is about two acres of fenced land smack in the middle of Korah. There is a community center, a shower facility, a cooking building, a storage building and two outdoor huts. There also is a small garden and plenty of room to keep it growing. Yemamu and Sisay have done an amazing job of already planting some corn and have plans to continue to expand the food choices and vegetation at our facility.

As we exited outside the community center, THAT smell hit my nose and my memory. Since it was rainy season, there hadn't been a lot of peppers drying outside. Berbere is the mainstay spice in Ethiopian cooking and the only way to make it is to dry a LOT of peppers before they are ground and added with other flavors. Our cooks were drying peppers outside and the smell was like smelling baking bread at my Nannie's house; I immediately felt at home.

We the rest of our team spent the day touring the grounds and playing with the kids, Yemamu and I profiled about twenty of our kids. It seemed to take forever because of the translation delay. I felt awful that Yemamu had to keep stopping because when he would give me a name like Bilielieu, I had to make him stop and spell it.

Hearing our kids' stories were horrifically beautiful. Some came alone, some with their parents but all came with a need and they were praying that they fit into Hands For the Needy criteria in order to receive food and education.

The story that stood out the most that first day was the father who brought in his twins, whose mother had been run over by a trash truck while working at the dump and had lost her leg. I just couldn't imagine that digging through a dump was considered going to work. I never again could complain about traveling to an air conditioned office every day.

Our team was exhausted but we had to leave for the day to pick up our last missing team member from the airport and check that Abby and Amy's bags had finally arrived. And I had a dinner date that I wasn't going to miss for the world...

Open Hands

I've been trying to go through my 900+ pictures of our trip.

Last night, I had my slide show going and The Angel saw this picture:

She asked who this was.

I told her it was a girl in the Hands For The Needy program whose name was Zahara.

Zahara's mom was run over by a trash truck at the dump, scavaging for food.

Zahara's mom was one of the people for who our team provided medical attention.

The Angel stared at Zahara's face awhile and then she asked:

"Mommy, but what is she doing?"

I explained that Zahara was praying and giving thanks

before our first official feeding at the center.

The Angel wrinkled her nose.

"Mommy, I KNOW that, but what is with her hands?"

I gave it my best shot.

I told her that opening your hands in prayer was a physical sign that

you were open to what God was doing in your life;

like a sign that you were accepting whatever He says to you in prayer.

She skipped off.

I've been struggling with being home.

More so that in trips past.

The tears are constant.

The hurt is real.

The brokenness of my heart is like a scab, rebroken and gaping.

I want very much to use these emotions to effecutate change, but in His timing and for His glory; anything else is about me, or Africa, or Kaleab, and that's not how it should be.

This morning as the kids bowed their heads over their breakfasts,

I tried to lift up thanksgiving without tears.

As I clasped my hands and closed my eyes,

I focused on saying aloud for what I was thankful.

Before 'amen', I looked over at The Angel, whose hands were extended outward

and fully open.

Lord, there was a reason you wanted the children to come to you.

Thank you for using two children, on two sides of the world, to show me how to pray.

May this transition back home be no transition at all, but merely a daily reminder to myself to radiate Your light through the stories I write with my life and I re-tell of those I have met.

ET Trip Recap: Day One

We arrived in Addis Ababa early in the morning on Friday after two days of traveling (one day was not 'traveling', as we were delayed out of OKC and spent the day sitting at our home airport). The Hero said I did really well on the flights, which is great for me because as most of you know I HATE to fly. After meeting two of our team members and spending two hours through customs and baggage claim, we had arrived safely back in Africa. I couldn't have been more excited. For 18 months I had been aching to be back and here we were at last. Even my breaths felt at home.
Seeing Yemamu again was beautiful and throwing my arms around his neck brought tears. Seeing him again so clearly reminded me of the paths that God intertwined to fulfill His purposes and it began 18 months ago with Yemamu being assigned to show us the city by our adoption agency. Through those two weeks of seeing his heart and his passion for the people he was raised with in Korah, God planted the seed for Yemamu to start Hands for the Needy and I began to love this man like I did my own family. Yemamu proved to be such an amazing guide and trustworthy soul, I referred everyone travelling to Addis to meet him, which led to him being introduced to Amy and then my LoPa partners, which led to LoPa donating our profits to Hands for The Needy.
He took us to our guest house, a two minute walk from Korah, and let us rest before dinner. We napped and when he asked us what sounded good for dinner, our entire team laughed and screamed "We're in Ethiopia, Ethiopian food." We spent dinner talking and telling stories about our kids and learning about the projects that HFN had going and the progress that had been made in just a year of existence. By the time we left dinner, our team couldn't wait to see the center and meet the kids that we were going to be supporting.
Some people need time to adjust to time changes, sensory changes and the differences between being on one continent after directly coming from another. Not me. Not this trip. I felt like I was home. As if for the first time in 18 months there were no expectations of me, no time lines or due dates to follow and I felt my soul relax, as if it had settled on the back porch with a pitcher of lemonade and was watching the sun set. It was beautiful and all I could pray for that night was that God use my being to bring Him glory and to embrace every opportunity to show His love.
As The Hero and I climbed into bed that night, I felt like a kid preparing for Christmas morning. After a year of praying, planning and seeking God's direction, we were finally going to see the faces and touch the hands of those we would be serving. I barely slept.

I wrote this Saturday morning as we were touching down in OKC. After two days, it's still all I can piece together without losing sight of my computer because of the tears.

We left Ethiopia Friday morning about 11:oo a.m. I cried all the way to the airport. Sobbed as we got out of the taxi and hugged Yemamu, Sisay, the rest of our team and Kaleab. Our flight to Dubai was almost four hours and I wept like a baby most of the way. During our six hour layover, I tried to talk to The Hero, but each time I opened my mouth, all that came out were tears. Our overnight flight to Atlanta was not much better.
And as I sit typing this, we are about an hour outside Oklahoma City, and I'm tearing up. Please understand, after 10 days, I am ready to see my children. But a huge piece of me is still in Ethiopia.

Re-entry is always hard. It usually takes me weeks to back to a routine. This time is different. I don't want to go back to how it was before. I don't want to walk into a grocery store and forget those that struggle to find food on a daily basis. I don't want to eat another meal at a restaurant and forget those 12 boys who eat, sleep and scrounge for their every necessity at a trash dump.

There is so much of our trip that I will eventually be able to share; to attempt to attach words to what occurred those beautiful 10 days. It's just not today. There will be much that I cannot share for awhile; and parts of it I never will. Today the hurt is fresh, raw and while I always want it to be there, I don't know yet how to verbalize or write it and I know you couldn't understand my mumbling through all the crying.

Cursed and Unimportant

(Guest Post by: Layla Payton)

I have a disorder that causes me swallowing difficulties. Sometimes it gets so bad that I have to go on a baby food, or a liquid diet. I am on the baby food diet at the moment.

I think an ulcer may be causing this particular flair-up, but I really don't want to talk about that right now. That's not the point of this post. The point of this post is attitude. I usually go into a major funk when I have to go on one of these diets. I LOVE to eat. I LOVE to bake. And I LOVE to eat what I bake. Take my food away, and I get a tad grumpy. Okay, probably more than a tad. I start to feel sorry for myself, because "everyone else" gets to eat a cheeseburger.

No, not everyone.

There is this little place. You may have heard of it.

It's called, "Africa."

I have some friends who are there at this very moment. Friends who stood in an official's office today. They dug in their heels and said (in so many words), " We are not leaving until you sign the paperwork." And they didn't, until a certain official signed that significant paperwork. Paperwork that NOW legally allows them to feed 60 children in Korah.

My sweet friend, Lindsey Andrews, posted this on her Facebook status:

"I made our entire team (5 of us) go the government office this morning. He about freaked to see all of us sitting at his desk BUT paperwork was signed and filed with the government!!!!! We are ready to start feeding tomorrow. THANK YOU JESUS!!!!!!!!"

(Yeah, now you know why Lindsey is often referred to as: "Bulldog." That's what you get when you have someone who is CrAzY in love with Jesus, AND an attorney.)

Do you know about Korah?

Please watch this if you don't.

(You'll need some Kleenex.)

"Cursed and Unimportant."

What if that was said about YOUR children?

What if that was YOUR child digging in the trash for food?

Yeah, kinda puts a whole new spin on things. Things like complaining about having to eat baby food.

I eat like a queen.

Enough with the "poor me," already.

The following is a post from Tom Cox, who was also in Korah:

"Visited the trash dump and met some boys that live in a make shift hut. They collect plastic bags and sell them by the bundle. They get about $0.30 per bundle. On top of that, they do this while dodging the bulldozer. The cool thing is, they are pooling their money together to send one of the boys to school.

That's the love of Jesus!"

Yep...

...that'll give you a GREAT BIG attitude adjustment!