Today I jumped into a conversation on the Ethiopia yahoo board about why Ethiopia has so many babies. It's not like I think I know the perfect answer, but I wanted to give my two cents worth so I shared a story from my trip (with a little creative licensing).
Really why I wanted to jump in and comment is that our perspective, as well intentioned, well fed Westerners is far different from Ethiopians. So until we've been there and lived it, who are we to say? And by being there and living it, I don't mean spending a few days in Ethiopia, making a whirlwind trip to the country-side, meeting a birthparent, heading back to our hotel that caters to us, and then jumping back on an airplane. That's not really living it.
The truth is. We don't really know. We haven't lived their lives. We haven't walked in their shoes of poverty, desperation, sickness, etc. Yes, maybe we've experienced some of that, but I'm guessing you likely can't say that you've lived their life. Can you? So imagine with me this story:
The rain is actually falling in Ethiopia. Praise God (or the heavens or whatever else you believe in) for the rain! People are on the roadside where shallow ditches carry the running water. Bent over the temporary stream are handfuls of people dipping water and washing their face and drinking until their bellies are full. A young family - seemingly a mother, father and 1-2 year old child - drink the fresh rain and fill their water jugs. It's awesome that they don't have to walk hours to water today. They can get it much easier. There's only one problem. The ditches are dirt and the water is filthy. Along with the fresh rain comes sediment, animal feces, and other water and air borne diseases. His joy on his aged face makes me smile and then frown. That so called fresh water was actually full of dysentery, a water-borne bacteria. Within a short period of time, this young father begins showing the tell-tale signs of dysentery that we can read about on the internet but that they have no clue of. First the abdominal cramps, then rectal pain, and eventually bloody stools. He can’t manage to stop the diarrhea and another villager recommends that he drink lots of water since he heard a “ferenge” talk about it some years ago. So, this man, whose name is Ayele, continues to drink what water they can gather up. But the diarrhea persists and Ayele begins to lack energy and lose his strength. His bride continues to carry their sweet baby, Asfaw, on her back to fetch water daily. It’s planting season and Ayele lays bed-ridden, meaning he lays on the dirt of his tukul, writhing in pain. Meanwhile his bride carries their child and their seed out and throws it out on the dirt, hoping something will grow. After all, she’s no farmer.
She has no clue how that works. In a matter of weeks, without clean water, IV fluids, or even a medical doctor to help, Ayele breaths his last painful breath while his wife is fetching water.
Can you imagine that? She returns home to find him gone. She’s now left to raise their son alone. Never mind the growing baby inside her belly that will be making its grand appearance any day now. How will she provide for them without her husband? The baby comes which brings some joy amongst the sorrow. His family is pressuring her to leave the home, their home, which they’d allowed their son to live in. The corn crop which had been broadcast sown was uneven and very little ears of corn matured. She daily asked herself how she would provide. Eventually she, having little to no value in her culture, was kicked out of her home and put to the streets. Her boys were hungry and she had very little to feed them. For her, it wasn’t even a choice of sacrificially giving to her toddler some food while she remained hungry because she had none to offer. As a means of providing a meal, she does what she sees other women doing and begins prostituting her body. Her boys, though she loves them, require so much. How is she supposed to provide for them? She can’t feed them without an income. There’s no welfare system to help her out. And because she’s in a small rural town, there’s no NGO presence either. She begs in the market place but can’t get enough for one meal. How can she make an income as a prostitute with two little children: one on her back and one at her side? While begging in the market the next day, she overhears a woman talking about giving her baby away. Another few weeks go by in which she begs, sells her body and watches her children become more and more malnourished. She constantly wonders if she’ll have to give her babies away too. Eventually, because she loves her children, she makes the hardest choice of her life. She kisses them on the forehead and through her tears tells them she loves them. She walks away broken hearted but is thankful that her boys will have a chance to be fed, and to live.
Several years later, I spend some time in Ethiopia. By now, this small rural town looks a little different. At the edge of the town is and organization called FOVC. And while the locals don’t know what the sign out front says, they understand that FOVC exists to help others. To care for the orphans and the widows. Even those widows who had to give up their babies. They know the children within the compound receive food, education and medical care. They know that Desalegn, who they watched grow up in this town, runs the organization and is constantly doing something, or a lot of things, for his neighbors. They know that FOVC gives them hope for tomorrow. As I stand in a crowd of villagers, some of which are seeing white people for the first time, I peer into the eyes of the people around me. One particular woman catches my attention. I watch her and she silently watches the veterinarian (my husband) treat the local livestock for parasites. With my camera in hand, I zoom in and capture a shot of that beautiful woman. As I make my way over to her, I show her the picture on my camera. She gasps having never seen herself in a mirror before, let alone on this contraption I’m holding. With the aid of a local translator, I sit and visit with this woman. And I hear her story. It’s heart breaking. But she tells me what she’s doing now and how she’s reaching out to her community. And in this small village in southern Ethiopia, I’m inspired by this woman I met who’s been through so much. She rocks
my world when upon beginning to leave, she prays for us. And thanks God for using us to reach her people. I walk away with tears in my eyes. I can’t imagine the pain and loss she’s endured. Her story ends on a good note, but not all of them do.
This is all too often the case in Ethiopia. We have no clue what it’s really like there. We can’t comprehend what they go through or why they make the decisions they make. In this situation above, a baby was given up for adoption. His mom was alive. But she loved him enough to know that she could watch him die a slow death or give him up. She’d already watched the love of her life die. Once was enough. I share this story to help shed some light on their situation. It’s not perfect. And rather than argue over how and why it happens, I would love if we could work together to help prevent those situations from happening. My husband and I are volunteering with Friends of Orphans and Vulnerable Children in rural southern Ethiopia to help in these situations. If you would like to know more about them, visit their website at www.fovc.org or send me an email.
Really why I wanted to jump in and comment is that our perspective, as well intentioned, well fed Westerners is far different from Ethiopians. So until we've been there and lived it, who are we to say? And by being there and living it, I don't mean spending a few days in Ethiopia, making a whirlwind trip to the country-side, meeting a birthparent, heading back to our hotel that caters to us, and then jumping back on an airplane. That's not really living it.
The truth is. We don't really know. We haven't lived their lives. We haven't walked in their shoes of poverty, desperation, sickness, etc. Yes, maybe we've experienced some of that, but I'm guessing you likely can't say that you've lived their life. Can you? So imagine with me this story:
The rain is actually falling in Ethiopia. Praise God (or the heavens or whatever else you believe in) for the rain! People are on the roadside where shallow ditches carry the running water. Bent over the temporary stream are handfuls of people dipping water and washing their face and drinking until their bellies are full. A young family - seemingly a mother, father and 1-2 year old child - drink the fresh rain and fill their water jugs. It's awesome that they don't have to walk hours to water today. They can get it much easier. There's only one problem. The ditches are dirt and the water is filthy. Along with the fresh rain comes sediment, animal feces, and other water and air borne diseases. His joy on his aged face makes me smile and then frown. That so called fresh water was actually full of dysentery, a water-borne bacteria. Within a short period of time, this young father begins showing the tell-tale signs of dysentery that we can read about on the internet but that they have no clue of. First the abdominal cramps, then rectal pain, and eventually bloody stools. He can’t manage to stop the diarrhea and another villager recommends that he drink lots of water since he heard a “ferenge” talk about it some years ago. So, this man, whose name is Ayele, continues to drink what water they can gather up. But the diarrhea persists and Ayele begins to lack energy and lose his strength. His bride continues to carry their sweet baby, Asfaw, on her back to fetch water daily. It’s planting season and Ayele lays bed-ridden, meaning he lays on the dirt of his tukul, writhing in pain. Meanwhile his bride carries their child and their seed out and throws it out on the dirt, hoping something will grow. After all, she’s no farmer.
She has no clue how that works. In a matter of weeks, without clean water, IV fluids, or even a medical doctor to help, Ayele breaths his last painful breath while his wife is fetching water.
Can you imagine that? She returns home to find him gone. She’s now left to raise their son alone. Never mind the growing baby inside her belly that will be making its grand appearance any day now. How will she provide for them without her husband? The baby comes which brings some joy amongst the sorrow. His family is pressuring her to leave the home, their home, which they’d allowed their son to live in. The corn crop which had been broadcast sown was uneven and very little ears of corn matured. She daily asked herself how she would provide. Eventually she, having little to no value in her culture, was kicked out of her home and put to the streets. Her boys were hungry and she had very little to feed them. For her, it wasn’t even a choice of sacrificially giving to her toddler some food while she remained hungry because she had none to offer. As a means of providing a meal, she does what she sees other women doing and begins prostituting her body. Her boys, though she loves them, require so much. How is she supposed to provide for them? She can’t feed them without an income. There’s no welfare system to help her out. And because she’s in a small rural town, there’s no NGO presence either. She begs in the market place but can’t get enough for one meal. How can she make an income as a prostitute with two little children: one on her back and one at her side? While begging in the market the next day, she overhears a woman talking about giving her baby away. Another few weeks go by in which she begs, sells her body and watches her children become more and more malnourished. She constantly wonders if she’ll have to give her babies away too. Eventually, because she loves her children, she makes the hardest choice of her life. She kisses them on the forehead and through her tears tells them she loves them. She walks away broken hearted but is thankful that her boys will have a chance to be fed, and to live.
Several years later, I spend some time in Ethiopia. By now, this small rural town looks a little different. At the edge of the town is and organization called FOVC. And while the locals don’t know what the sign out front says, they understand that FOVC exists to help others. To care for the orphans and the widows. Even those widows who had to give up their babies. They know the children within the compound receive food, education and medical care. They know that Desalegn, who they watched grow up in this town, runs the organization and is constantly doing something, or a lot of things, for his neighbors. They know that FOVC gives them hope for tomorrow. As I stand in a crowd of villagers, some of which are seeing white people for the first time, I peer into the eyes of the people around me. One particular woman catches my attention. I watch her and she silently watches the veterinarian (my husband) treat the local livestock for parasites. With my camera in hand, I zoom in and capture a shot of that beautiful woman. As I make my way over to her, I show her the picture on my camera. She gasps having never seen herself in a mirror before, let alone on this contraption I’m holding. With the aid of a local translator, I sit and visit with this woman. And I hear her story. It’s heart breaking. But she tells me what she’s doing now and how she’s reaching out to her community. And in this small village in southern Ethiopia, I’m inspired by this woman I met who’s been through so much. She rocks
my world when upon beginning to leave, she prays for us. And thanks God for using us to reach her people. I walk away with tears in my eyes. I can’t imagine the pain and loss she’s endured. Her story ends on a good note, but not all of them do.This is all too often the case in Ethiopia. We have no clue what it’s really like there. We can’t comprehend what they go through or why they make the decisions they make. In this situation above, a baby was given up for adoption. His mom was alive. But she loved him enough to know that she could watch him die a slow death or give him up. She’d already watched the love of her life die. Once was enough. I share this story to help shed some light on their situation. It’s not perfect. And rather than argue over how and why it happens, I would love if we could work together to help prevent those situations from happening. My husband and I are volunteering with Friends of Orphans and Vulnerable Children in rural southern Ethiopia to help in these situations. If you would like to know more about them, visit their website at www.fovc.org or send me an email.
Brilliant!
ReplyDeleteGreat story.
ReplyDelete- Cori
I read this on the yahoo group yesterday-and I was so proud of you for jumping in there. I think so many people think they know (in an arrogant way) what is best, but you're right, our perspective is so completely different.
ReplyDelete