Winners and Losers (5/8)

Emotionally, this has been my toughest day yet. It was the first time I had a tear in my eye and the first time I was unable to sleep due to what I had seen, heard and experienced during they day. It wasn’t a day filled with sadness or desperation but there were a series of events, which in the end got the better of my usually resolute self.

Firstly, we began the day very early with mass at St Teresa’s chapel that is found in the compound of the Missionaries of Charity. These are the sisters who work in the order founded and inspired by Mother Teresa of Calcutta, one of the true modern disciples and example of true Christian living. I remember a quote of hers when she was asked how she was going to look after all the sick and dying of the world, and her response was simply that she would work on, one by one. This is inspirational in the work we are currently involved with. We will not solve every problem of every street child in Mekele before we go home, and even if we did there would be another town, and other region, or another country. However, maybe (and I hope and pray that I do) I will make a difference to perhaps a handful of the children. Maybe I will make their life a bit better for the future, give them some kind of help that they will never forget.

Mass had begun early and we sneaked it as best we could after leaving out shoes outside. There was just one bench at the back and everyone else was on the floor. There was actually space on the bench and the three white men faranji were ushered to these seats.

This is perhaps a good point to talk about the huge guilt I currently feel and me Tommy and John speak of frequently. Some aspects of my writing may seem we are living the life of luxury out here in Mekele. The honest answer is that we are. We are holed up in a very comfortable, secure compound with caring sisters who attempt to solve our every problem and request as quickly as possible. However, I increasingly find that this exaggerates the situations we see and encounter. Everyone we meet treats us differently; they know we are rich westerners. We essentially go without nothing and we have all we need and a great deal beside. This is very true at home, and equally out here too.

Today I felt really bad about worrying that my expensive digital camera was broken. You can’t even buy digital cameras in Mekele. Even if you could, what percentage of the population could afford one? And if they could afford one, would they see it as a necessity? I told myself to get a grip and Sunday helped me do that. Essentially if I don’t take another photo or my camera is dead for good it’s not really the end of the world is it? I know exactly where my next meal is coming from, I know the bed I will be sleeping in tonight and could list a number of people who really love and care for me.

Due to our late arrival in mass, we didn’t really notice the congregation. However as the service went on I found myself looking at each person in the small chapel in turn. Every one of them looked happy enough to be in mass, joining in enthusiastically with the hymns (I could in for “Hosanna, Hosanna!”). However as I turned from person to person, I could see their difficulties, their pains. There were those with crutches, children in wheel chairs, all kinds of disabilities, a selection of amputations and any other number of hardships placed upon these people.

After mass we stayed and shook hands and chatted and made friends with many people from what can only be described as a hospital. The Missionaries of Charity devote their lives to helping the poorest and sickest people in society, and in Mekele that is no mean feat. Nearly every single person we see has either a physical or mental disability or is suffering from HIV/AIDS. Thank God (and I mean that, not just as a throw away comment) God for these sisters. There is no one else to care for these people. I’m very sure most of these people would otherwise be another poor beggar lying in the street hoping for a little compassion from passers by. That, or dead already.

It was a quiet car journey home. Situations like that really do make you think and show you the true side of life for the poor and sick in Ethiopia.

A little later, John offered to take Tommy and myself for a walk up to the university. None of us had really spoken about what we had encountered at mass, and it actually took until Monday evening for us to do that. It hit us all really hard and even then we didn’t really know what to say.

John pointed out to us the slum areas of Adi-Haki where most our children live. They have quickly become ‘our’ children. Sr Fisseha always calls them that and I can now understand why. They are like surrogate children that you want to care for, to love, to help succeed. Tommy and I are going on some home visits over the next week or so, and I think John wanted to prepare us for those a little. In Abba Gebremichael, each day we see the children in a safe secure environment where every staff member cares them for. They are fed, washed, clothed, educated – their needs met. They walk out of those gates and their world changes.

It was a hot day and our slog up the hill was lessened by a few belus at the top. We had walked up the main road (which leads to the airport) and admired some good views over the city. Our return was via the old road accompanied by locals (habashas) and donkeys’s pulling or bring down incredible loads. There were some well-constructed house, but there were other buildings that looked like out-house or even chicken sheds. That’s what they would be considered as in England, but out here, someone calls it home. Probably a family of four or five do.

Another thing struck me on the walk down. My feet were killing me. I had left my walking shoes at St Vincent’s in a moment of madness. I was wearing my very thin-soled trainers and these were just not suitable for the rocks and generally uneven road surface. I had a choice, and I had enough money in my wallet to go and buy another pair if I needed to. I’ll remember to look at the shoes of the children in the project tomorrow – and some of them walk for 40 minutes each day to get to Abba Gebremichael.

Gary and Danny picked us up to go and see the Community Shield match between Chelsea and Man United. This has been a topic of conversation for the whole first two weeks in Mekele and we knew how much it meant to the boys. They took us to the Third Floor Sports Café. I insisted on paying the entrance fee. This was a mini-battle with Danny, I knew the boys had been working hard to take us out to show us the football and they are happy to pay their own way. 3Birr (15p) means a whole lot more to them than to us though and I eventually got my way!

We got to the top of the stairs and were ushered through a half door. This was an experience like no other, it was still well over an hour to kick off, but here at the top of an office block-cum-hotel was nothing more than a shed tacked on to the roof full with plastic garden chairs. There was a large white sheet pinned to the wall, a few football flags and posters hung up and already around 300-odd excited Africans. The temperature was already rising and we took our seats three rows from the back. I admit the screen was a good size, and we ordered a few drinks (the boys were a little taken back as they usually pay entrance only).

Tommy was the one asking the obvious questions such as, “Is there just that one door in and out?” the answer being ‘yes’. I was noting the fact that is was just a half door, and that there was probably near on 400 people, three floors up. Ethiopian health and safety executives would have had a field day, but I’m not sure they exist and there was certainly no kicking out any of these spectators!

The match was entertaining and we became Man Utd fans for the day. Tommy is Alex Ferguson and I am Wayne Rooney according to the boys. In fact, that is the only time I have heard any of the boys use foul language, when doing a Rooney impression. He should remember the effect he is having a few thousand miles away! 3-0 to Man United on penalties so we need to celebrate.

Remembering last Sunday, we insisted on taking the boys out to dinner. They don’t eat on a Sunday normally and Tommy and me have decided we will act on instinct rather than rules.

The boys agreed, to our delight, and we headed off for the traditional Ethiopian restaurant near St Vincent’s. Here we experienced a strange moment of anti-faranji and anti-street boy as we could not sit on a nice table at the back with a tablecloth and wineglasses already set up but were moved to the crowded ‘floor’ of the restaurant sat on low stalls. The atmosphere was good with live music and dancers and the boys pointed out the keyboard player actually used to be part of the project.

It is at this point, that I must highlight the attitude of the boys. Not for one second did they take anything for granted. They showed an immensely mature and appreciative attitude, which many teenagers from well-brought up families in England would struggle to match. They accepted our gesture in exactly the way it was meant, but not once did they ever come close to overstepping the mark. They chose a simple dish from the menu to share; I had a word with the waiter to make sure he put plenty of meat in it, and politely refused my offer of a second drink.

I struggled to finish my meal when it suddenly dawned on me that in a short space of time the boys may not be dancing and smiling and eating away. They’d be trying to find somewhere to bed down for the night, looking at the lightening in the distance wondering if they’d get wet. At least they had a good feed inside them, and we had all had a good day together.

They escorted us back to St Vincent’s; they are always very concerned about us getting our pockets picked and they literally do act as our guards. It is appreciated on our part, and we forget how good ‘our’ street children are.

Just as we get to the gates, Danny said to me, “We are very sorry that you lose all your money on us.” I almost stopped dead in my tracks. I wasn’t sure, at first, exactly what he was trying to say to us. “You lose all your money on us, we are very sorry.”

I suddenly realised that he was trying to say a real heartfelt thank you for the afternoon. I told him, that it was a real pleasure to take them out and that I had enjoyed myself immeasurably (which was the truth). I also told him that we had not lost a cent (which was again the truth). I asked if they had had a good time, big grins and yeses all round. That was all that counted, as I told them. There was big hugs goodbye at the gates, and I wondered to myself exactly where they were going to go. The 122Birr (£6.70) I had spent on dinner was the best £7 I had spent in a good long time.