Let's Make Ourselves Weak

It’s day 5, and I haven’t hardly had time to settle slowly, or whatever. The last post was Saturday, and since that morning at the Missionaries of Charity orphanage, my place in Ethiopia has drastically changed. My I feel like I’ve lived here for weeks, I mean lived here, and my time at the orphanage feels like a cherished memory from long ago. It’s a strange, exciting feeling.


I think it’s because I’ve been going going going since Monday morning. Sunday was the lockdown (because of the election), and so the storm doors went down and Avatar came on. We ate popcorn and I slept off some of the jet-lag (don’t worry, I’ve kept a little with me.) And then, Monday morning:

At 5am I was already up because my sleep schedule was mangled from the jet-lag. I spent some time reading and writing and watching the sun brighten the sky, and then at 7am I left the Cherokee house to go to Destiny Academy, the school I’m volunteering at through Cherokee. Ryan (another volunteer) and I started down the stone road pocked with mud puddles from the house to the street, and then down a dusty road to the highway overpass. The overpass itself is a sight. There are cafés lining the streets smelling of sweet coffee and red spice. Shoe shiners and street vendors (they all sell undies. Seriously. And type of undies imaginable are hanging from a street vendor stall in Ethiopia) line the sidewalks and say hello or beg, or both. Soldiers in blue jungle-camo carry around Ak-47s and old WWII rifles; shifty-eyed as they stroll around in packs of three of four. The homeless lounge in their rock forts—shelters of big stones stacked against the columns of the overpass, filled with nests of cardboard and old blankets. And then the bus stops.

Okay, so transportation in Ethiopia is very unique, and very confusing. There are three types of transportation. The first are private taxis. They are sooo expensive, comparatively. They’re 100 birr usually, which is about $7.40. Then the big buses. They’re basically like cattle cars, with stacks of sweaty bodies packed like sardines, literally shoulder to shoulder, but they’re fun and cheap. They’re usually 2 birr, which is about $0.14. And then finally the minibuses, which are the preferred form of transportation here in Addis. Again, they’re just 2 birr. They’re scrappy little vans painted blue and white, with rows of plastic-wrapped seats and men that hang out of the sides calling out routes and collecting cash for fares. People pack themselves inside the little things, and it’s a fight to get in. But once you do, the camaraderie of the riders begins to build. Especially for us ferengis (white peeps), if you flaunt the little Amharic (the local language) you know, you’ll see some smiles and sometimes befriend a fellow commuter or two. They’ve tried to teach me more of the language on the buses, and once a man paid my fare for me. He insisted, saying “this is Ethiopian culture.” I like Ethiopian culture.

Anyway, the minibuses swarm the bus stops, and that Monday morning we stood on the curb and listened to the minibuses shout out their stops in Amharic. The route to Destiny is “Tor Hiloch” to “Mexico” (seriously) to “Gofa” (I know this know, but at the time I was super lost.) We shoved ourselves into the minibus and paid $0.14 for an hour-long jaunt across the city to the school.

Destiny Academy is separated into a “primary school” for Grades K-2, and a “secondary school” for Grades 3-7. I’d been assigned to the secondary school. I met the head teacher, Miss Hareg, at the central office, and we made our way through the muddy paths (it’s the rain season) to the big black iron gates of the school. The door creaked open and in the small courtyard were lines of students dressed in bright orange sweaters singing, skipping, and shouting. And then, they noticed me and descended like little orange bees. They shouted “Mister mister mister,” and I stepped into the school holding three of four hands. And then, it was seven solid class periods of teacher orientation. I tagged along with Miss Hareg as she and incorporated me more into the lessons throughout the day.

I spent the lunch break with Miss Hareg at a local place, enjoying my first taste of in-country Ethiopian food, a delicious bit of injera and a tasty orange goop called “serato.” Don’t ask questions. AND, I enjoyed my first Ethiopian macchiato (not like Starbucks). I’m not a coffee person, but macchiatos are like liquid joy in petite, dirty cups. It’s expresso, cream, and a LOT of sugar. There’s nothing like pouring raw sugar on the brown and white swirly head of the macchiato, and seeing it slowly sink through the froth to dissolve and disappear. Mmm mmm. I need one now (because I’m very sleepy.) During lunch, Hareg told me more about the school, and about the faith-culture of Ethiopia. It’s a clash of engrained Orthodox Christianity, a growing Islamic movement, and post-persecution Evangelical Christianity.

After the last lesson, Miss Hareg said she thought I was prepared to teach the next day. Legit teach, and she meant it. Yeah, hold that thought.

I left the school through a gauntlet of students saying “come tomorrow come tomorrow mister,” and I assured them I’d be there as their English teacher. Faces were still unfamiliar, I had little responsibility, and I had connected with students sometimes throughout the day, but it was just a taste. An easy taste.

I hitched a minibus to Mexico (ha!), then off to Hulugeb’s Home and Workshop for the Blind, my other assignment from Cherokee. It’s a home that trains its blind and disabled residents to perform simple, productive tasks to produce marketable goods. I entered the complex on a whim, and met the director, a squat man with a great mustache and gray suit, to discuss Hulugeb’s purpose and needs. I agreed to redesign their brochure through photography and some design work, and after the brief, the director gave me a tour of the place. It was raining, and blind residents tapped and trudged through the muddy path. The complex was a series of shacks in which blind residents operated uniquely engineered looms, drills, saws, and other machinery to do simple tasks by feel, like drilling holes in a block, then passing it on to have hair tied through the holes. And the brushes, brooms, mats, donuts created and sold on the complex. Inside the shacks, put together with pieces of color-painted corrugated metal, the dim fluorescent light cast an unnatural glow on the blind residents, their heads tilted up and their eyes glazed over as they worked in silence in the dark, dusty rooms. Their careful fingers plucked and twisted and placed and created things to sell, to live.

And then, dinner and vampiring until very late (internet is difficult here, and jet-lag is still strong, so I do my internet-ing after the other peeps are sleeping).

The next day, Tuesday, sleepy me, on 3 hours of sleep, stumbled into Destiny Academy at 8am. The kids started shouting excitedly, and I got pumped. Miss Hareg gave me the tests for each of my classes, and then cut me loose. I became “Mister Chris,” and spent from 6 hours teaching 7 straight classes of Grades 3-7. I monitored the test-taking, lead lessons, gave homework, layed down the law, and scribbled English exercises on the flimsy chalkboards.

Exhausting. I do the same as the salaried teachers, and have my own office (with a key), and have lesson plans, and grade papers, and it’s just a lot. It’s absolutely exhausting, but I loved it, and I love it. Seeing the students learning in class is such a beautiful thing. Seeing them smile when you call on them, or laugh at some silly classroom joke. Seeing them stretch their hand up and bite their lip because they know the answer. Seeing them be creative, and be proud of their projects. I just—I feel the exhaustion right now, but I feel the joy of being “Mister Chris” and it’s worth it. It’s worth it.

To share the joy with you, yesterday I gave my 3rd Grade class a creative assignment. They had to think of a time when they were very scared, then write it down on a small sheet of paper. Then, they traded the paper with a partner, and the partner had to write a poem about the incident. Here are some of my favorites…(misspellings are corrected*)

by Name:

Yesterday I saw the dream when I went into the mountain then I saw the Angel and I was scared (skirde*) but I have a wind. My wind is black. I down the mountain I down and I standing in my dream. I saw the ocolake (some animal) in the night at 6 o’clock. I stand and my mother says “what happened I saw the angel.” She do not tell me what means the angel.

by Anon:

I see in summer I go a park I see one day a lion in a park I scary very much I said “Oh my goodness! Jesssssus!” And one day in the morning I go to a fisher park and I see a shark. One day I go a shop and in there my mother said “Oh my God you see a monkey!!”

by Hellna:

I scared see a cat and I run and I say “ha.”

by Kibraeb:

I saw yesterday dream.

The dragon eat my parents. The dragon fly to eat me and I said “WAAAAAAAAY.”
…

It’s not easy, but I love it because of the students. Sitting in the courtyard, surrounding by a group of kids, holding my hands and laughing as they rub my blonde arm hair, trying to braid my hair, jumping on my back, convincing me to play double dutch with them (the jump-rope thing?), playing football and chase and the jumping game, and hugging a lot. There are man opportunities to love at Destiny Academy, through education and through emotional connection. I leave that place with chalky hands and a smile, and I know this is the start of something good.

After that intense day at Destiny, we went to a traditional food and traditional dance restaurant, to eat injera and get our Ethiopian groove going. The food was fantastic, and I pounded some injera with spicy piles of colorful goop. We drank Tej, a honey mead “wine” that does not taste good or like wine, but is the color of mango juice (yeah, you know), and is the drink of ancient Ethiopian kings. Pero no me gusta, no no. Then, the Ethiopian dancers came out and started popping their shoulders, and invited us to individually dance with them. Don’t stop get-it get-it. T’was an Ethiopian hoedown throwdown, and a night to remember (I also might have eaten a small piece of charcoal for a bet of $0.28, known as a birr bet. Oops.)

Oh, it’s late. Alright, I must finish.

Today, more teaching at Destiny. Then, I met the Haverly’s at their house and continued with Andrew on an adventure for a cell phone. Along the way, I discovered Kadi’s, the Ethiopian off-brand of Starbucks that looks exactly like Starbucks, exactly, and tried a tasty macchiato there. Time with Andrew was so great, and I learned more about the city and the bus routes. Then, I spent some time just walking/wandering. Learning the language by listening to people on the street and in the buses. High-fiving habashas (native Ethiopians, opposite of firenge) and meeting people on the street. I spent some time meeting people by the overpass, the rock fort community, and taking photos of them. Cameras can really connect people here, and I love love love that. It’s happened many times in the last 4 days, where a camera becomes a link. A photo becomes a gift. It’s the best.

And then, dinner and now I’m here. Blogging. And again, saving the best for last.,,

Last night, the other volunteers were saying goodbye to go to sleep, and I was still in the living room, exhausted after teaching 7 classes, but grading tests for 2½ more hours. Living on very little sleep, thinking about the people dear to me, grading and grading and feeling confined in my responsibility as a teacher, I felt very frustrated. It’s worth it, but it’s not easy.

I took some time to think, and asked God for understanding. He gave me this—

“And let us not be weary in well doing: for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not.”
-Galatians 6:9

Such a humbling gift, and I need humility if this process of giving myself and getting me some Jesus is genuine. Why be weary? Because spending myself on me me me and my expectations means then there’s little left to give.

“But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more glady of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me.”
-2 Corinthians 12:9

Because we are beings of dependence, and being dependent on Jesus, the only constant, brings a constant supply of strength. When we are most weak, we are most dependent. When we are most dependent, we are most strong in Jesus. In dependence is our strength.

In Nicaragua, in Jamaica, in India, in Nashville, at camp, and everywhere both abroad and at home, I pray that weakness would be our strength. That we may boldy give ourselves, not fearing fainting, knowing that Jesus is here to multiply us, to be our vitality. To be our sufficiency.

Let’s make ourselves weak. He’ll make us strong.

-Chris

What Do We Do What Did We Do

It’s late here, in Addis Ababa, and now is a good time to process a very rich day. Even with jet-lag taking me out for 3 hours in the afternoon, it’s been such a good first day in Ethiopia. An important day of meaningful interaction, and a question.

There are my moments for today:

-In the morning, we’re walking by an overpass close to home, seeing skinny men and women lying still in dilapidated shelters made of plastic bags, piled rocks, and cardboard. Blue and white vans crowd the sideroads, and men hang out of the vans calling street names and collecting fares from the mass of people crowding around the vans, and then crowding into them. We stuff into the back of the van, and it smells just like Bangladesh. It's so much like Bangladesh. 

-The van stops in a parking lot and we pile out to wait on the others. They’re supposed to meet us soon, but as we wait there’s a soccer game going on in the parking lot. They notice us, and begin to stare. Then, one by one, they introduce themselves, and we just connect. Someone kicks the soccer ball to me, and it’s game time in Chacos. Get it get it.

-It's nighttime in Addis, and the minibuses are still nudging through the sidestreets, calling out destinations to the crowds. I'm standing on the sidewalk by the overpass, and I see a big brown man moving towards me, shoulder tucked for collision, and boom, there’s Andrew Haverly. We stand by the overpass, staring at each other and saying “This is so strange, and good.” I get in a van taxi with him and hitch a ride to his house for dinner. Hearing Andrew tell of his Chinese intimidation (side story: some Ethiopians consider all Chinese/seemingly Chinese men to be Jackie Chan. All have ass-kicking aptitude, and are dangerous folk. Some, according to local myth, can kick 4 people at once, and punch 6 gangsters in the time it takes a stick to drop. They consider Andrew a Chinese man, although he is Filipino, so he’s basically a boss.) I step inside the Haverly’s Ethiopian home, and see little Jackson stomping around the room with his arms in the air, eating Craisins and causing a ruckumbuckus. And it's their home, and I'm at home with my friends in Addis Ababa.

-I spent 5 minutes roasting the perfect marshmallow over the bonfire outside the Cherokee house. I take the Ethiopian crackers and off-brand orange-chocolate and make a sticky, delicious s’more. I sit on the grass by the fire, telling stories before bed (or not bed. I’m a blogging vampire) and enjoying the company of the legit people in the group I’ve only known for a day, but feel very connected to.

And then, there was the orphanage at Asco, for children infected with HIV. About three hours in the morning. The best three hours of the day, the most intense three hours of the day. I won't forget.

-We reach the door of the orphanage. It’s a big red door, and on it is written “Missionaries of Charity, Blessed Teresa’s Home.” We open the door and go through, coming to a sloping hill on which is built the massive complex. There’s a school, a clinic, dorms and other functional buildings, and little play huts surrounded by fields. Beyond the complex is a sprawling shantytown, looking like a quilt of different colored corrugated metal roofs. And there, at the bottom of the hill on an old, rusty playground, are the kids. The see our Asco veteran, Rob (6 foot something studly man), first, and then notice the rest of us. And then, it’s like we get charged with some crazy magnetism of affection or attention or something, because these kids charge up to meet us and then cling to us. Every open space on a limb is claimed by little hands and little legs wrapping around. 

And you look down at the children clinging to you and it’s in their faces. It’s in their eyes. It’s a need to be touched, to be loved through touch. And something bubbles in the black of their eyes when you hold their hand. We spin on the carousel and swung on the monkey bars. They say "strong strong" and do stunts off the playground--jumping, pulling, hanging, whatever--and look to you for a response. And when you smile, they smile, raising their little eyebrows over and over ( "I see you" in Ethiopian body language). We play chase and chuck rocks at walls and pieces of wood. They fold little windmills from paper and place them on the tips dried grass, bite the grass, then sprint and the windmills spin with them. And then my favorite game—we recruit a small army, Me, a little boy named Enoch, and two others, and pick long grass for weapons. We sneak around the complex, spying on some secret, imaginary someone, hitting the deck and heading for the hills and laughing at our imaginary game. And then, the clinic with the babies. Little children, their faces scabbed and pocked, standing on their thin twig legs and leaning against you. Their golden brown faces, and their eyes--you can’t communicate with words, but you just stare into their eyes for minutes, seeing the bright white rectangles of the sky windows reflecting in their big, black, beautiful eyes, and see them smile back. You feel their little hands around you in a gentle hug, and you think that's why you're there. 

And then it's “Ciao.” Goodbye. Time to leave. And those children you’ve connected with will stay. And your head is pounding as hug goodbye, but they're numb to it. Then its up the steps and to the top of the slope and you look back to wave at the children, and they aren’t looking at you anymore. And you think, “what did I do here.”

Sunrise and Why I'm Here

Dear Friends,

Wow. I'm in Addis Ababa right now, listening to morning birds chirping, and to the amplified, acute sound of prayer calls echoing around this city It's just me and my laptop in the living room. And the silly house dog curled next to me. I don't really know what day/time it is, but I know it's around 6am. I just watched the sun slowly slowly rise. It's brilliant and burning over the stone wall of the house, silhouetting the power lines and razor wire. Ouch, that hurts to look at. Just trust me, it's legit.

So, here I am, beginning my 8 weeks in Ethiopia. And I just realized that I haven't told you what I'm doing yet. Now's a good time:

For four weeks, I'll be volunteering with an organization called "Cherokee Gives Back." They operate a volunteer house here in Addis Ababa that partners with 10-ish other local NGO's to place volunteers in service positions and host them while they serve. Specifically, I'll be teaching at a school, "Destiny Academy," and doing marketing work for a home for the blind, "Hulugeb's." Details are TBD, but I'll meet with the organizations in the next two days to learn more. I'll live at the Cherokee house (I'm there now), and volunteer every weekday from 9ish-5ish. Weekends are off, and spontaneous. Then, the second 4 weeks, I'll be living with some friends from home here in Addis Ababa, and working with an organization called "Geneva Global." They're legit, and they do performance philanthropy--essentially connecting high net-worth donors with small, effective, bottom-up organizations. Check them out at http://www.genevaglobal.com/. In a couple of days, Matt Keshian will join me here at the Cherokee House (Duke almost-senior, bff with Robert Ryan, spent SB with me canoeing through the Everglades, brilliant man who's writing a business plan for a leper colony), and in a couple of weeks, Conor McWade will join me too (schmuck, my boy). Interspersed in the 8 weeks, I'll be travelling around Ethiopia (again, TBD), eating crazy things, and volunteering with other organizations in a small capacity, just to explore. There is SO much to do here, I wonder if 8 weeks is enough. I'm crazy excited, and so much of this'll just be spontaneity, and reacting to my experiences moment by moment. I don't have a long itinerary, and I like that. It's just me, in Ethiopia, ready to listen. I'm listening.

I'm about to eat a stray muffin on the table, 'cause I'm hongry,
-Chris

Better Beginning to the Blog

Thinking of a title is difficult.

A blog's title characterizes the blog itself so much, and almost locks the blog into communicating something specific. I don't like that, you know? Last summer, it was "Keeping it Fresh in the Dirty 'Desh," and that blog communicated my, Trey, Banks, and Tommy's experiences in Bangladesh. Simple, sweet, sometimes short. Whatever, Bangladesh--okay.

But this blog is different. I hope it's different. I'm leaving for Ethiopia tomorow, true. Wait, not true. I'm leaving for Ethiopia in 7 hours (it's 6:25am, this is my get-my-mind-right-ready vigil.) So, initially it'll be me "Living Like a Cornucopia in Ethiopia" (yes/no? Too much?), but I hope it'll become more.

Anyway, about the name. Life and Lucidity (other suggestions included "Chris's F**king Blog," and "Sex, Drugs, and Videotape." No me gusta.) Lucidity is an important idea to me. It's the word that describes meaningful moments in my life when I'm brought to a significant understanding of my character, my circumstances, my motivation, my connection to Jesus, and the other things that make me me. There are moments when I understand, and life is so beautiful. Circumstances don't create that, it's just a sudden lucidity.

I consider those moments gifts.

I hope that this blog, through the stories and photos posted, will be an invitation to imagine those moments and share them.

So, here's to some sharing.

Whew. Alright, all the ideology is out. Don't take me too seriously, but this is just my hope. I keep falling asleep in mid-type, and am typing some ridiculous things. That means this get-my-mind-right-ready vigil must end, and I must sleep. More mind-righting must--whoops. Okay, dangerously close to drooling on the keyboard. Seriously, sleep now.

Goodnight and Goodmorning,
-Chris

Beginning to Blog

Hmmm.