Wednesday
morning at 6:15, Sumer knocked on my door and informed me that her youngest was
ill. She was therefore going to stay home and care for him. She read me my list
of things to do, messages to relay, and receipts to collect while I tried with
some difficulty to keep my eyeballs open. She finished and started for the
door, “Oh, and Sami Driver is coming at 6:30 not 7.”
We were
driving to Shashamene to pick up our students and bring them home for a two
week break. It’s always a full day when we truck 216 children 3 ½ hours home. I
enjoy it though. They are always excited to go home. Home is home, even if home
is Korah.
We had
driven over two hours, and everyone was hungry. “Kayla,” Yiesmachew started, “Do
you want fish? Fresh fish. Very nice.” Murad nodded, “Yes, very fresh.” We
drove down one dirt path, and then another. I was gracious. “Ok, sounds nice……It
is cooked isn’t it? Murad?” I hadn’t
finished speaking when I noticed a barefoot man walking on the road. He held in
his left hand a string, and sure enough dangling from their lips were six very
fresh fish. “Uh…Murad?” Sami stopped the van and spoke with the man for a few
minutes. “Lord? Please don’t make me eat those fish!” I pleaded. I praised the
Lord loudly when we continued to drive. I was sure that was the “fresh fish”
for breakfast.
We drove into a compound by a large lake. There was a herd of cattle wading into the water,
and large hideous birds
walking on stick-legs in the marsh. They were so ugly, in fact, that I approached
one just to ask it, “Excuse me, but do you know how truly ugly that you are?” We
walked along the shore until we reached a huge shoala tree by which several
women were frying fish. 
We joined other men who were sitting on wooden benches
around the fires. “Kayla! Mirinda, Coka, Sprite?” “Mirinda.” A woman with fishy
fingers popped the cap and handed me a warm Mirinda (orange soda). Damp spices
clung to the bottle, and I should not have sniffed them. A boy passed through
the benches holding a gutted fish by its gills and passed it one of the women. It
was dripping with lake water. Fresh fish. She sliced into its body three times,
slapped on the seasoning, and dropped it in oil. The gills opened in the heat. “Murad,
I have to pee,” I whispered. “Where can she pee?” He asked the ladies loudly. I
did not understand the entire conversation, but they motioned toward the shoala
tree behind them. He shook his head. I started to assess its potential. It was,
after all, the size of a small bathroom in diameter. “Nope,” he decided. We left
our fishy Mirindas and walked around for some time before I promised I could just
hold it. I sat down and a plate was handed to me. The fish was whole – gills,
head, skin, bones, lips – whole. The eyeballs were the only thing missing, for
they had melted into the mush of the skull.
Murad thanked God in Amharic for
our breakfast, and dug in. “Do you know how?” he asked me. “I’ll figure it out.”
It was the best fish I had ever had. I ate two all by myself – with exception
to the heads, which I gave to Murad. Everyone has their limits.
As I finished the second one, I
looked over the lake and wondered if this is how Jesus cooked his fish that day
he made his disciples breakfast by the Sea of Tiberias. The disciples could not
catch fish that night. From the beach, Jesus told them to cast their nets on the
right side of the boat. One hundred fifty three fish were caught in their net
immediately. They pulled them to land, and Jesus invited them for breakfast. He
gave them bread and fish He had already prepared. My imagination now tastes the
fish and hears the fire snapping.
Then three times Jesus asked Peter, “Do you
love me more than these? Do you love me? Do you love me?” Each time Peter
replied, “Yes Lord, you know I love you.” And three times Jesus said, “Then
shepherd my sheep…..Follow me!” I thought about the first time Jesus said those
words to the disciples. He found them fishing and said, “Follow me, and I will
make you fishers of men.” They spent the next three years learning what He
meant by that.
We are called first to follow Jesus. Then to fish.
We are to
fish, like Jesus.
