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