A Day In The Life

My eyes opened at 6:44. I reclosed them and rolled over to hug my pillow. I frowned at the discovery of a trio of new bites on my arm. The side I sleep on is irregularly polka dotted from ribs to knees. Oh well. I straightened my bed and smooshed the flea that scurried over the sheets. An orange T-shirt today will do, with brown pants and a Rastafarian headband. I ate a bowl of last night’s rice and an apple as I read through the book of Esther. What an amazing young lady. What an amazing God.

I left my house in my red plaid flats and bag over my shoulder. Walking to the bajaj station is always interesting. The people never tire of seeing a ferenge (foreigner). They are surprised every time. Boys hanging out of cars yell going by, “Baby! Where you go? I love you.” Those shoulder to shoulder with me stare as they walk. People along the side of the road watch me wide eyed. Others walk past and intentionally bump into me or lean over and whisper, “Ferenge”.  Yes, I know. I finally reach the bajaj. A bajaj is a motorcycle with a tricycle type cart over top of it. They are known for tipping, and every time I enter one I know I could surely die. The driver packs us in like meat in a tamale and we scoot into traffic, both dodging and racing larger vehicles. I pay him 1 birr and 40 cents for the 2 mile ride. (Equal to about 8 cents). I walk across the street and down the road to the place where the taxi will come. There are about 50 people waiting on the street. A tall smirking man flirts with me from the pole he leans on. “Hello. What is your name? Sister. Where are you come from? Where do you go now? Hello. Sister. Are you fine? Where are you go?” I keep my eyes forward and do not answer his questions. Eventually he gives up, shuts up, and goes away to annoy someone else.

The first taxi comes. The mob runs altogether next to it as it decides where to stop. Everyone tries to pour into the taxi at the same time, reminding me of sand in an hourglass, except all the sand cannot go through at one time. I am not aggressive enough, and join the rest of the sand back on the street looking for the next taxi. Another comes, and I dive in the pile with all my hay bale tossing, corn shelling, baby carrying, barn boot stomping strength, and hit the bottom of the hourglass. On to the next one. Taxis are blue and white minivans with a boy that hangs out the open door or window hollering where they are going. If there are no traffic police paying attention, they will pack as many of us into the 8 seating minivan as we will fit. In mine today, there were 20. The lucky boy next to me practically sat on the lap of a ferenge the whole way. Abisha (Ethiopians) don’t like fresh air blowing in their faces, so they close each window tightly and smell each other instead. We stop a mile from our destination to get gas. I endure the dirty looks to crack my window. In another mile I bang the side of the wall. “Wede Jale.” (I’ll get off here). I cross the street and pray I am not killed by the ever-flowing lawless traffic. I am not killed. “Kore?” Someone asks me. I nod and he shoves me into his taxi headed there. We stop six times to get more people to stuff in the cracks. Finally I am in Kore.

I joined Strong Hearts, a ministry I am also working with this year, for a devotional from 2 Kings. Then I went out with the hospice team to do two home visits. We visited a woman who had been in her home in her bed for 8 months with what they called bone tuberculosis. (I have to look that up.) She has three children, no husband, no income, and no strength to stand. The ministry is providing her with medicine, food, and spiritual encouragement. We talked and prayed with her, and listened as she cried. The next home was a couple in their nineties. The husband was a recovered leper, and lay in bed with one leg, no toes, leaking eyes, and a discouraged face. We also prayed with him, and promised to return to take him to the hospital tomorrow.

I then headed over to my clinic to play doctor. I bandaged legs and dispensed medicine and looked in mouths and kissed boo boos until there were no more. I hung up my lab coat, locked the door, and walked with my friend, Misiker, to her home for lunch. She speaks about as much English as I speak Amharic, but we still have a great time. Her sister served us macaroni noodles mixed up with scrambled eggs. (I think the eggs were mostly for color, to be honest.) We had three rounds of fresh roasted, pounded coffee, and watched the news. Her mother taught me how to spin cotton into thread with a drop spindle. P.S. I’m not very good. (I’m pretty sure it’s magic actually).

I gave nine kisses between the three of them, left their home, dropped off some receipts at the office, and boarded my first taxi for home. Eighteen people in this one. The bajaj driver tried to cheat me on the price, but I’m a sharp ferenge. Home again. I skyped with my beautiful sister, followed by my beautiful mother, drank a coke and fell in bed. I hate coke. Put some hydrocortisone on a few of my flea bites. Good night, Ethiopia. I will see you in the morning while my homeland sleeps.