The Road to Awasa:

We volunteered to take three days out of the city to learn more about the country, its people and its culture. It was a bit of a confusing decision when we have travelling all this way to meet our son. We have only been able to spend hours with him while here for a week. After three days I was feeling that desperate need to get back to my kiddos, those in the US and in Addis. (a sign of the difficulty to come in leaving.) But let me tell you a few of the invaluable stories/lessons I have learned about my world, myself and my newest son through my three day journey on the road to Awasa.

The country is different from the developing city. And when I say developing, note that use the present action tense of the word. It is not a city in the sense that us Westerners understand. The unemployment rate is 45%. Those that have jobs, such as those working tireless hours in the sun to build the next ‘tall’ 10 story building (without use of steel, mid you), they make 35 Birr a day. In US, that equates to $2 for a day’s wage.

Now, let’s return to the countryside, just 20 minutes out of the capital. The land becomes very dry, very quickly. Rainy season is not until july/Aug, and they tell me it becomes very green. For now, it is the desert. The streets are lined along the edges as far as we can see with children carrying yellow jugs, cattle parading slowly, donkeys hauling a wooden cart, women with baskets of something I cannot identify. The most striking part of this scene is that in any direction I look, I cannot see a home, not a mud hut or hay stack in sight. And because it is desert, I can see a long distance. How far have they come? Where are they going?

Everything they do has a purpose, nothing is without its goal. That purpose is survival. I see a boy, about age 7, who is walking alone with his cattle parade, giving the gentle reminders to the cows with his makeshift rope to keep moving, despite the heat. Because he has cattle, he is considered to be one of the wealthier families. This means that while others stay back to work the farm, the boy is responsible for watering their cattle. He walks them for four or five hours each day to the nearest riverbed for a drink. When they have had their share, they rest in the shade of a tree that itself looks like it has its own story to tell. Then the return trip home begins back along the dried up road. This daily journey is necessary to keep up their livelihood.

Others walk the same distance to the nearest well with drinkable water, carrying their sustenance on their donkeys or own backs. I wondered why people didn’t move closer to the wells. The answer I was given was that it was not possible. Families are not allowed to sell their land, only pass it along in their families. If you weren’t born near a well, you likely weren’t going to be living near a well anytime soon

.

Before I left home in the US, I took off my engagement ring, left behind jewelry, etc. I didn’t want to be flashy or inconsiderate in my excess. What I quickly learned is that it isn’t the diamond or the jewels that do that. It is my skin that wears the wealth. Even the poorest of the people in our own country have things or clothes or access to something, anything, that these poor farmers have never seen. There is something that the Ethiopians have that so many Americans to not have any longer. They have a smile that shines through their hardship, especially the children. I tried hard to look into the faces of many of the adults, to see if that spark was lost somewhere in their growing up. For the most part, it was still there.

After our arrival in Awasa (which was filled with countless stories and miniature journeys) our white minibus with two white Americans, and our two newest Ethiopian friends who were travelling with us stopped on the side of the road to visit a coffee farm. This afternoon was one of those times we will continually ask ourselves, “Did we really do that?” It was a random roadside stop where the women agreed to show us their coffee crop and false banana plants. The only thing that seemed to be missing was the National Geographic camera crew following us. Just as we were fascinated with them and their work life, they were fascinated by us and our personal camera. It made for a good exchange, but really only something that can be described with pictures and videos, though that doesn’t come close to fully encompassing all the experience. They were kind enough to invite us into their home. The cows, two women, six children and the unknown number of others who were out working in the field lived in a mud home the size of my living room. I was surprised to see a single bed I assumed they all shared. That it until I saw the baby come crawling in the dusty dirt floor from around the half wall where the cows were. He had been snuggling with his cattle friends, maybe even sneaking a luxury drink of milk.

What does all this mean? I haven’t quite digested it all yet, but I do know it means I have a better understanding of the life and family from where Hambisa came. We are told that his place of origin is more remote and dry than this blessed road to Awasa.