I had had enough of coke and coffee (mixed together), which is the Ethiopian secret cure for upsets stomachs. It tastes vile and as much as you are still feeling ill you are bursting at the eyeballs with caffeine! Enough was enough and I returned to school, however not lessons.
On arrival at Abba Gebremichael we discovered that most of the beneficiaries had headed off to the Fr Tino stadium to watch our team, St Vincent’s take on the Under-17 Tigray team. We rounded up those who were left and bundled them into a taxi to take us the 4 or 5 miles out to the sports ground.
The Tigray Under-17 team looked an impressive outfit. All in matching tracksuits and with their Under-15 team watching on, they looked pretty unbeatable. There was the added excitement of the regional TV news reporters being there as well as local press photographers. Saturday sees the start of a national competition hosted in the Mekele Stadium where Tigray will be playing against all the other regions to find the national champions. No wonder these boys looked very fit and very keen!
The photographer insisted on taking our photos (perhaps for some special story on how Wayne Rooney and Alex Fergueson had come to watch?!) and I was quizzed by one of the TV guys on what Tigray’s tactics for the tournament would be. I could have had a lot of fun and had my five minutes of Tigrinyian TV fame, but by the time I realised what was happening our boys had scored! It may have been a one-goal consolation against the eight they had conceded, but it didn’t really matter. This was like Southend taking on Brazil and they had clawed one back!
Luckily Geree the driver picked us all up in the ‘team bus’ at the end and we rode through the streets jubilant. “St Vincent’s are the only team that also sing when we lose”, one of the boys proudly boasted. The horn was beeping, the hazards flashing, shirts were waved above heads, and the singing and banging was deafening as I hung out the window and joined in! I did feel sorry for the chap being booked by the police man at the roundabout as our truck cruised by with 30 screaming boys jumping around in the back causing a general disturbance and any number of public order offences! However apparently, in the eyes of the law, anything goes if it is the name of sport…
The day of teaching was further curtailed as we arrived back at the project to find out we were going on a home visit.
Bumping up and down in the 4x4 as we went through the slums of Adi-Haki, I had one of my moments of ‘Am I really here? Really?’. We parked up and approached the house, picking our way across a muddy field. The house belongs to a family that consists of a 16-year old girl who attends the project, her younger sister (around 7ish), her mother who suffers from chronic asthma and possibly their father. The house was very small, approximately 2.5m by 2.5m, but had two beds made of piled up boulders and stone. The walls were made from a boulders and a mud-like plaster, topped of with a tin roof filled with holes; with the current rain it must get ever so damp in the house. There was no electricity or water supply, just a small oil lamp and charcoal burner. As a result, the rent was just 25Birr a month. The mother said that she earns 30Birr a month working one day a week making injera for a rich lady.
Given both the size and construction, the house did not smell damp and even though I was unsure about it, the bed offered a little comfort. The house was definitely one of the better of those I have seen around the area; it is important to remember that all these people are very poor, its about just working out which ones need extra assistance from the sisters very limited resources.
There was part of me that wanted to take a few photographs to let people back at home know exactly the kind of houses that these people live in, in particular this ‘good’ house, but it just felt inappropriate. I had been invited in and welcomed as a guest; it just didn’t feel right to be then taking photos. I certainly wouldn’t do that back home, so I’m not sure exactly why I should do it here.
On leaving Sr Fisseha explained to me that it is hard to get the true and accurate history and circumstances of a family. There are usually different versions of how many brothers and sisters there are, where the mother is, what income they have, illnesses etc. It brings home how difficult it is for the sisters in differentiating one poor family from the next; who is the most poor and needy? It takes much strength and courage to do this job on a day-to-day basis; the sisters continue to be an example to me of great service and discipleship at every single moment, and always with not a moan or complaint.
I found it a very quietly and personally humbling experience. I know exactly what the place I call home is like, and I now know what the children in our care at the project call home. To talk to the girl, you’d never know; she is always well presented, intelligent, warm, friendly and happy. I wanted to at least call someone to fix the holes in her roof, and replace the coffee her mother had offered us.
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I am starting to get an idea of what ‘living in solidarity with the poor’ actually means. It really isn’t selling all you own and renting a shack in the slums of Adi-Haki; that really would be of little benefit to anyone. What these sisters are doing, and I am trying my very best to do, is something a little different. It is more about being a guest in their homes, spending time with them and their families to understand their problems, accepting their humble hospitality. It is about accepting invites from the boys to jump into a falling apart taxi to travel a few miles into the great-unknown suburbs of Mekele to watch a game of football, disappear into a small doorway to play billiardo or climb three flights of stairs to watch the Man Utd versus Chelsea game. It is about sharing their world and their experiences. Sometimes it’s a little scary, sometimes you wonder if what you are eating or drinking will do you any good or not, sometimes you get a bit dirty, but all the time you get a little closer. It’s going way beyond half way to meet these people and sharing with them all you can, but always remaining in a position where you can truly help them and be of benefit to them.
On arrival at Abba Gebremichael we discovered that most of the beneficiaries had headed off to the Fr Tino stadium to watch our team, St Vincent’s take on the Under-17 Tigray team. We rounded up those who were left and bundled them into a taxi to take us the 4 or 5 miles out to the sports ground.
The Tigray Under-17 team looked an impressive outfit. All in matching tracksuits and with their Under-15 team watching on, they looked pretty unbeatable. There was the added excitement of the regional TV news reporters being there as well as local press photographers. Saturday sees the start of a national competition hosted in the Mekele Stadium where Tigray will be playing against all the other regions to find the national champions. No wonder these boys looked very fit and very keen!
The photographer insisted on taking our photos (perhaps for some special story on how Wayne Rooney and Alex Fergueson had come to watch?!) and I was quizzed by one of the TV guys on what Tigray’s tactics for the tournament would be. I could have had a lot of fun and had my five minutes of Tigrinyian TV fame, but by the time I realised what was happening our boys had scored! It may have been a one-goal consolation against the eight they had conceded, but it didn’t really matter. This was like Southend taking on Brazil and they had clawed one back!
Luckily Geree the driver picked us all up in the ‘team bus’ at the end and we rode through the streets jubilant. “St Vincent’s are the only team that also sing when we lose”, one of the boys proudly boasted. The horn was beeping, the hazards flashing, shirts were waved above heads, and the singing and banging was deafening as I hung out the window and joined in! I did feel sorry for the chap being booked by the police man at the roundabout as our truck cruised by with 30 screaming boys jumping around in the back causing a general disturbance and any number of public order offences! However apparently, in the eyes of the law, anything goes if it is the name of sport…
The day of teaching was further curtailed as we arrived back at the project to find out we were going on a home visit.
Bumping up and down in the 4x4 as we went through the slums of Adi-Haki, I had one of my moments of ‘Am I really here? Really?’. We parked up and approached the house, picking our way across a muddy field. The house belongs to a family that consists of a 16-year old girl who attends the project, her younger sister (around 7ish), her mother who suffers from chronic asthma and possibly their father. The house was very small, approximately 2.5m by 2.5m, but had two beds made of piled up boulders and stone. The walls were made from a boulders and a mud-like plaster, topped of with a tin roof filled with holes; with the current rain it must get ever so damp in the house. There was no electricity or water supply, just a small oil lamp and charcoal burner. As a result, the rent was just 25Birr a month. The mother said that she earns 30Birr a month working one day a week making injera for a rich lady.
Given both the size and construction, the house did not smell damp and even though I was unsure about it, the bed offered a little comfort. The house was definitely one of the better of those I have seen around the area; it is important to remember that all these people are very poor, its about just working out which ones need extra assistance from the sisters very limited resources.
There was part of me that wanted to take a few photographs to let people back at home know exactly the kind of houses that these people live in, in particular this ‘good’ house, but it just felt inappropriate. I had been invited in and welcomed as a guest; it just didn’t feel right to be then taking photos. I certainly wouldn’t do that back home, so I’m not sure exactly why I should do it here.
On leaving Sr Fisseha explained to me that it is hard to get the true and accurate history and circumstances of a family. There are usually different versions of how many brothers and sisters there are, where the mother is, what income they have, illnesses etc. It brings home how difficult it is for the sisters in differentiating one poor family from the next; who is the most poor and needy? It takes much strength and courage to do this job on a day-to-day basis; the sisters continue to be an example to me of great service and discipleship at every single moment, and always with not a moan or complaint.
I found it a very quietly and personally humbling experience. I know exactly what the place I call home is like, and I now know what the children in our care at the project call home. To talk to the girl, you’d never know; she is always well presented, intelligent, warm, friendly and happy. I wanted to at least call someone to fix the holes in her roof, and replace the coffee her mother had offered us.
-----------------------------------------------
I am starting to get an idea of what ‘living in solidarity with the poor’ actually means. It really isn’t selling all you own and renting a shack in the slums of Adi-Haki; that really would be of little benefit to anyone. What these sisters are doing, and I am trying my very best to do, is something a little different. It is more about being a guest in their homes, spending time with them and their families to understand their problems, accepting their humble hospitality. It is about accepting invites from the boys to jump into a falling apart taxi to travel a few miles into the great-unknown suburbs of Mekele to watch a game of football, disappear into a small doorway to play billiardo or climb three flights of stairs to watch the Man Utd versus Chelsea game. It is about sharing their world and their experiences. Sometimes it’s a little scary, sometimes you wonder if what you are eating or drinking will do you any good or not, sometimes you get a bit dirty, but all the time you get a little closer. It’s going way beyond half way to meet these people and sharing with them all you can, but always remaining in a position where you can truly help them and be of benefit to them.
1 comment:
absolutely right not to take a photograph of that woman's house!
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