Happy New Year!

 Greetings!

Today is the Ethiopian New Year. Malcam Addis Ameut Ethiopia! It is now 2005. (Their calendar has 13 months.) Not sure I want to go back to 2005….I wasn’t even old enough to live in Ethiopia…. I awoke yesterday to the chants and songs of a band of children, dressed in traditional clothing, banging on a neighbors door. All through the city there was celebration like this. Flags waived, coffee brewed, and music filled every ear. My friends and I went party hopping. We hit four homes, all of which insisted on feeding us. At the third home I could not sit up straight in my chair. When they came around with their pitcher of water to wash my hands I turned to an English speaker and said, “Tell them that if they feed me anything else, I’m going to throw up on them.” I don’t think that exact message was relayed, but I was not force fed anything else until evening. I was then made to eat a large piece of their nasty cake. No offense, Ethiopia, but your cake is not palatable – kinda like a wet, rotting sponge. I don’t know what they do to it, but it’s bad. Cake aside, it was a great time of celebration. May God bless 2005.

Last week, Great Hope Ministries invited the community to a program at the church commemorating the transformation of Korah. There were two large pieces of ply wood covered in pictures. On the far left were pictures of the children in the trash dump. They were three years younger, but sad, filthy, hopeless. In the middle were pictures of Sumer’s family, and the many teams of ferenge that had come, sponsored kids, and made a difference. And finally on the right were pictures of the children now. Picture after picture of their smiles, bright and confident smiles. There were pictures of them at boarding school, on field trips, and home in Korah. The heading read, “The Transformation of Korah”. True that.

 

Several people stood and shared with the community how Project 61 had changed the lives of their family and publicly gave the Lord praise for His blessings. The name of each person from Korah who is now in America; whether adopted, student, or visitor was mentioned, and again God was praised. A group of students filed out in somewhat matching attire to sing, dance, and mime for us. And finally, the leaders recognized the children with the highest grades. Each child strutted down front between our chairs while we clapped to a peppy beat, shook the proud hand of a ministry worker, and received a gift for their hard work. What a wonderful way to lift their morale for the new school year ahead!

 

It is back to school time. This week, Sumer and I have filled three hundred something backpacks with supplies for each student. Her house was filled with mounds of socks and pencils.

 

Today we dropped off the first batch of kids at Akake boarding school. This is a branch of the larger school in Shashamene that the majority of the students attend. It was exciting. They poured off the bus, received the backpack with their name on it, and entered their dorms. I look forward to watching them grow where they are planted. On Monday, we will transport the remaining 234 students to Shashamene. It will be quite the day. 

This past Monday was my first day of Amharic school. I loved it. There were ferenge from many parts of the world, speaking many other languages, and there for varying purposes. My teacher is the sweetest thing since canned peaches. We are not allowed to speak in Amharic in class yet. Their teaching method is that we will learn as we learned our mother tongue, initially by listening only. When we are confident in the word’s use and pronunciation, we may use it starting in the next phase. The rules, of course, only apply in class, and we are encouraged to experiment outside. It’s so much fun to go out and hear words I just learned in use by the nationals. My language is growing by the day.

The rainy season is coming to a close. The rain is less and less and the sun shines more and more, though today we had a good storm. I’m in no hurry for the rain to go. Soon we will be hot always, and I do love the rain.

Last week, a girl in our program named Buzayu came to the clinic to see me. She sat in the chair and pointed to her ankle. A large round something was just barely sticking out of her skin. She explained to me that it used to be in much deeper, and on the other side of her ankle. I gloved up, grabbed it with my fingers, and pulled quickly. She jerked away from me, then looked in astonishment at what I had extracted from her ankle. It was a thorn, roughly an inch in length. She told me it had been there for a year and seven months. Over the past year, she had gone to numerous doctors, had x-rays, and went on antibiotics trying to figure out what was wrong with her foot. Everyone had told her nothing was there.

 

I could only think of the Apostle Paul in 2 Corinthians 12:7-10. He cried out to the Lord concerning a “thorn in his flesh”, that the Lord might remove it from him. But God, in His sovereignty, allowed the thorn to remain. Paul even alludes to the fact that it was given to him intentionally to keep him from boasting in his own ability and accomplishments. The Lord’s reply to his prayer was this alone, “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness.” We do serve a jealous God, who will get the glory He deserves. Paul continues by praising God for his difficulty, knowing that in human struggle and weakness, the power and faithfulness of God is made known. How backward this thinking seems! And yet, even on the other side of the world, His grace is indeed sufficient for me in every difficulty, distress, or persecution.  

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.

My Week

                Just a forewarning, this is a long one.  :/

I have gone to work in the clinic every day since my first. I go prepared now, with scrubs and stethoscope. There is slightly more order established now to the clinic visits, but only slightly. There is a group of older boys in our program that can speak more English than I can Amharic, and serve as my translators and aids when my hands are full. They bar the door and only allow one patient in at a time, which helps significantly. I have seen numerous infections, insect bites, and coughs. Most every other patient complains of gastric problems. I mostly blame the Ethiopian diet, which is very spicy and acidic. Pepto-Bismol and Tums are my best friends here.

Thursday, I opened the van door and was greeted by Kari Smalley Gibson, who is known here as Mama Kiki. She squealed with delight at my arrival, and immediately grabbed my arm and dragged me toward the clinic. She told me along the way that a very famous man named Kassa had been waiting for me to come all morning. A child helped me rummage in my bag for my key, I unlocked the door and was pushed into my seat. A grinning older man hobbled in the door with the aid of a cane made from a metal pole. He sat in the patient chair and said, “Hakim! (Doctor!)” Kari explained that he was from the countryside and contracted leprosy. The disease causes loss of sensation in the extremities, and he therefore was unaware of the wounds on his feet. They became massively infected, and with no treatment, much of the flesh on his feet died. Because the wound is healed now, Kari said the teams before have simply wrapped his stubs to form a boot so it is less painful for him to walk. Kassa and I exchanged three kisses of the traditional greeting, and I washed and wrapped his feet. His toes are gone. There are remnants of the tops of some of them on one foot, but are mostly unrecognizable. He thanked me repeatedly, blessed me, and limped out the door, smiling hard with all the teeth in his mouth (which don’t amount to very many). I love my job. “The least of these,” I thought to myself. “How very precious in His sight.”

 Friday, I escorted a mother and her child to a large hospital in the city. The child’s name is Abraham, and he is two years old. He has Down’s Syndrome, microcephalus, and heart defects. We moved from bench to bench in the hospital, for no process is simple in Ethiopia. We eventually reached the doctor. He told me the baby had a Ventricular Septal Defect and Patent Ductus Arteriosis, and would most certainly need open heart surgery. He wrote me a reference for the Black Lion Hospital where there is a cardiac centre. I have never been to the Black Lion, but I have heard terrible things about it…such as…people go there to die. It is known as the most unsanitary, disorganized, frightening hospital in the city. He also gave me little reason to believe that they would take a child in for surgery anyway. We discussed the possibility of him getting a sponsor to have the surgery in America, which the doctor agreed a favorable option. Abraham and his mother are members of another ministry called Hope for Korah, which focuses on family needs and sponsorships. I contacted their sponsor and explained the situation. She responded almost immediately. The surgery is already paid for, and there are two options for a hospital that may perform it. One is in Texas, and the other in Kenya. Please pray that God will make it clear which hospital should be chosen, that He will provide an escort for Abraham, and that He will give peace and understanding to his adoring mother as we explain the seriousness of her baby’s situation. I will keep updates on his story.

Sunday morning, we arose before the dawn cracked and rolled into our van. With our hoods up and our headphones plugging our ears with music, we drove four and half hours into the countryside of Shashamene. It is time to register the children for school. There are 25 new children attending this school this year, and there is paperwork to complete for the other 220 of them. The plan was to go on Sunday so everyone could relax for the day and get up early for a full day of paperwork on Monday. Monday morning came and we were in the office. A meeting was held with Pastor Haile (the school director) first, discussing was a second chance for some children that had been dismissed for behavior issues. The decision was in their favor, and they were readmitted to the program. Next was the stack of paperwork. They needed to make copies of the registration forms, and fill them out.

“Oh no,” said Pastor Haile. “There is no light. Electric is down. We cannot make copies today. Come back on Wednesday.”  

And that was all. Everyone piled into the car and drove back. This is one of those examples of Ethiopia’s precious little concept of efficiency. It made no difference that we had driven four and a half hours to get there. They had not made any copies of the registration forms, (although Monday happened to be registration day). Deep sigh. What can be done? So…Wednesday we’ll do it again. J

 I could not help with the paperwork, so earlier in the day, Getinet (Dundee), a friend of mine who was also visiting the area, came and picked up Wynne (another American staying with us who is here adopting) and me. He took us to a place called Wondo Ganat, a beautiful tourist attraction with hot springs, baboons, and hiking. A young self appointed tour guide led us through the trails, over rivers, up hills, and down small ravines (They were small, Daddy). I didn’t come prepared for a hike, and was wearing clumsy sandals. It may not come as a surprise to most of you that I peeled them off and hiked it barefoot, much to the dismay of every Ethiopian present. Towards the end of the hike I was walking down the road, still carrying my sandals. Getinet turned to me and said,

“You know, in the Orthodox tradition, this is like a sign. You ask God for something and say, ‘God, if you do this thing for me, I will walk without my shoes.’ So now you walk barefooted and it is like God has done something for you.”

I smiled deeply at the thought of that. God has done so many things for me. I have been richly blessed, and He continues to amaze me with His ever-sustaining goodness. A humble and beautiful reminder. Maybe I ought to always go barefoot…..

  

The New Clinic

                I returned to Korah this morning, and to my delight was handed a key to the new clinic. Last year, Emily Cornish (The other RN working in Korah) and I hauled junk out of a storage closet, bought some shelves, and opened the first clinic. It was modest, but it was all we had. A couple months ago I received word from Emily that someone had donated money to build a new clinic. I saw a picture of the building as it was being erected, and shook my head at God’s goodness.

I headed toward the new clinic with the key in my hand. Apparently the children remembered that the clinic and I go together like shells and cheese, because the moment I clicked the latch open they about stampeded me into the dust. Someday I will record the scene and post it, just to make someone’s day. With considerable effort, I pushed the mob back into the street and closed the door behind me. I looked up and was blown away by the space, the quantity, and the organization. There were two large shelves stocked with supplies and medicine. The antibiotics were in drawers in baggies with a full prescription and directions written on them. It was almost overwhelming to behold.

            I did not lock the clinic door behind me, so it did not take long for children to filter in after me. The first ones in lined up on the bench by the door. Those that followed continued to pour in and fill every square foot of available space until I held up my arms and yelled in protest. I corralled the majority of them out and closed the door again. I turned to look at the remaining children on the bench. They wiped their runny noses with their hands, coughed violently into the air, and stared back at me.

“My doctor,” One stated simply.

That was it. I rolled up my sleeves, pulled up a chair, and there I stayed for the next hour and a half. I found tonsillitis, strep throat, a twisted ankle, some random aches and pains, and several coughs. It’s good to be back. Tomorrow I am wearing my scrubs….

The Day Came

(Written on my way)

The day came. I tottered onto the plane with way too much in my arms. Up, up, and up I went over houses the size of mustard seeds. I passed over scribbled streams, undulating hills, and trees, oh so many trees. Then suddenly they were gone, and all was white. I cried again. My family, my home, my state, all out of my sight. I was again suctioned to my seat and I rose through the white-out. And then there were camels and fish, dinosaurs and creatures Dr. Seuss never thought to create. Piles upon piles of clouds like mashed potatoes at the largest Thanksgiving feast you’ve ever seen. They swirled across the sky, and lied on nothing. How do they do that? What is a cloud anyway? Dust, yes. Gas, yes. Water, yes. But really, what is a cloud? Why do they do what they do? I wondered to myself and smiled for the first time that hour.

My eyes burned with the tears I have cried today for the people I’ve left behind. (And also from the place my brother Riley head butted me this morning.) I leave so many loves in America. My beautiful family first. We hugged and cried this morning as if I boarded for the war. Then they all lined up at the chain link fence on the outskirts of the runway and waved at me from inside the plane. It is so hard to leave them. I also had a posse of my nursing classmates, arrayed in their new scrubs, coming from their new jobs as real nurses. Many dear friends stood in the airport with me and said good-bye. I was a soggy-eyed girl all day, but somehow made it on that plane and the next. I am now in Amsterdam for the next 18 hours. I plan to sleep it away and hit the ground running tomorrow.

God is so faithful to me. He brought me to this point despite my ignorance and my short comings. I am not big enough to stand in the way of an almighty God and His plans, for which I am thankful. I am looking so forward to serving this God this year, the designer of my life and of the clouds. Ready or not, Ethiopia, here I come.

1 Month Before Take-off

            The first things greeting my eyes when I opened them this morning were various maps of Africa, pictures of smiling brown children, foreign scarves, and Ethiopian flags on my walls. Some mornings I wonder if these things belong to me. Did I take those pictures? Did I bring those objects home from some faraway place? Why do I have all these maps?

            God has brought me so far in the last four years. The traces of who I was before God called me into missions lie in memory boxes in the back of my closet. The changes have been fantastic, and have surprised me every time.

            This month I celebrated my graduation from nursing school and the obtaining of my Registered Nursing degree. I can hardly believe it. I never intended to go to college. This among many other things I have done that I never intended to do. I am at the end of a goal I set three years ago. God asked me to go to nursing school to be a medical missionary on a foreign field that would eventually be revealed. Then I met Ethiopia. It became clear that this was the place I was to go and share His love as a nurse when I became one. So I returned to America and chained myself to my books for three years. Nursing school was hard, as it is supposed to be, and God pulled me closer and closer to Himself as I struggled through it. I graduated and bought my ticket for Ethiopia, committing to thirteen months. I took and passed my boards last week. Kayla Emo R.N. And now I wait for August 10^th to come.

            I am frightened for the first time. There are so many unknowns about this year. Yet, I remain excited to see what God will make out of me, how He will change me, and what He will do with me in Ethiopia. Please pray for me as I prepare physically, emotionally, and spiritually for this year. There is much to do, but I am trusting in my God, my provider, who is sending me forth as His ambassador. I fly out one month from today, and I will be ready.

“Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, “Whom shall I send? And who will go for us? ”And I said, “Here am I. Send me.”

~ Isaiah 6:8 ~