This Place is Like a Prison

Today was huge. 


When I first started interning back in April of 2010, one of the first clients I helped out with was a great Ethiopian guy that we'll call Ben. He was coming from a refugee camp in Kenya and became eligible for emergency resettlement after having a stroke. Through spending time with Ben going to the bank, going to Social Security offices, and translating for him on a few occasions, we became pretty good friends. Even after my job changed I was able to keep working with Ben, which was great.


A few months after arriving in the states, Ben had another stroke and it pretty seriously impacted his ability to get around on his own. For the past year and a half, Ben has had to live in an assisted living rehab facility instead of with his family. We've been struggling to get him on disability insurance so that he can pay for the medicine he needs and live at home with his siblings. It's been one of the more frustrating experiences I've ever had and I can't even imagine how it must feel for Ben. What must it be like to flee your country, discover you have serious medical issues, be flown to yet another new place, then be told that you have to stay in a center where you are surrounded by older people who don't speak your language and are in varying stages of illness, and not have the choice to go live with your family? So overwhelming. Ben said recently that the rehab facility was starting to feel like a prison.


Finally, today we had a meeting before a judge who was to decide if Ben was eligible for disability insurance. Before Ben went before the judge, his stern-faced lawyer, Ann, warned us that this typically was another process. The judge would review the case, ask questions to make sure Ben answered them consistently, and discuss with an employment specialist to see if there were any jobs that Ben could feasibly do. The problems were many: the court certified translator wasn't there, Ben was missing medical documents from Kenya, and the lawyer was intimidating the crap out of us, so everyone was nervous. 


The lawyer went to present her case before the judge first, buying us more time before in case the translator did decide to show up (never happened), leaving Ben, his case manager, a person from the rehab center, and I to wait. When she came back 20 minutes later, she said - with a completely expressionless face and flat voice- that the judge had decided, based on the evidence, to grant Ben disability and award him with 16 months of reimbursements for the previous months when he should have been receiving assistance. He didn't even have to talk to Ben. It didn't matter that the translator wasn't there. We didn't have to come back another day. Ben just needed to sign a paper and it was done. None of us understood. We all just sat. Silent, staring at her. It wasn't until Ben poked me and asked me what she said that it completely sunk in. I jumped up and started shaking Ben by the shoulders (probably not good), telling him that he had gotten the assistance, that he was free. Tears were flowing, shouts of joy rang throughout the land. I've never had stress just evaporate like that so suddenly. For sure, Ben still has some challenges ahead of him, but at least now we aren't wondering how he is going to pay for his medicine and he'll have the support he needs to live at home. 


I don't think our stern-faced friend realized until that moment how much of a struggle this had been and how much it meant. Ben gave her a huge hug... let's be honest... we were all hugging her. She didn't have a choice. She took it well and left us with a, "well, next time make sure you have all your paperwork." 


Seriously, such an incredible day knowing that Ben can go home soon and get the more focused assistance that he needs. I haven't been able to stop smiling all day... which didn't go over well when I got to campus and ran into people groaning under the weight of finals. But you know... it really just doesn't matter. Ben is free.

Job love.

There are days where i love my job and then there are days when i really love my job. Today was a really kind of day.

First of all, when I walked in I saw three newly arrived refugees from Shimelba, one of whom I knew quite well!! The world seemed like such a small place all of a sudden and it was just a really happy moment. In the past month or so, many of my friends from the camp have resettled to the US: my translator Gebar, my favorite shop-keeper Jossy, and Tekle (all mentioned in a previous post). I've had the chance to talk to them on the phone, however none of them were resettled to DC. To see a friend in the office was so fun! And to finally feel like I have the chance to repay some of the kindness and generosity that was shown to me in Shimelba is so exciting.

Secondly, tonight we had a going away party for one of our favorite teachers, Madhav, in the refugee ESL program. I've been coordinating this program for the past year and Madhav joined at the same time I did. He is himself a refugee from Bhutan and is very well loved by his students. He has been studying English for the past 10 or so years and is so able to relate to the struggle of navigating in a world that doesn't speak your mother tongue. It was sad to see Madhav go, but the party was so so great. The students came together, of their own accord and with their limited incomes, and gave really heart-felt gifts. They all stood and said their favorite things about Madhav, which was so great... especially from those who have limited English skills. We even had some former students return to thank Madhav for how much he helped them improve their English skills and share how they were able to get better jobs as a result.

My favorite part of these classes is seeing refugees from all over world interact together. They come from such unique cultures, but they share a bond of being forced to leave their country and settle in a new place. It's so fascinating to watch them come, grow, and learn. They all have such valuable knowledge and experiences, it's just a matter of providing them with the platform (in this case, English) to share it with others.

In conclusion, a paragraph written by one of our Congolese students. They were asked to write, in 5 sentences, something that they do routinely. He is generous with his sentences, but it's beautiful so I'm ok with it...

"I usually work in a farm as a tractor driver. Agriculture is a very good activity. Personally I like it because, when I plant corn or soy beans, it is like I give a life to something, I see it grow, and after, I harvest it and I labor the soil again I replant it's a good job, when your result per hectares is high! Also I know how to work with all the implements as planter, sprayer, disk, spreader. Actually it is a nice world."

The Place with no Name

Allow me to be frank about one thing: my favorite animal is the giraffe and it always will be. However, were the unthinkable to happen and all the giraffes eradicated from the planet, my back up favorite would be the camel. They are just such useful animals, they always have an inquisitive look on their face, and they never seem to complain no matter how heavy the load or how hot the temperature. I like this. Here camels are sometimes referred to as the “ships of the desert” due to their ability to haul things over long distances with minimal effort. I mention all this only because the camp I am at is swarming with camels, I got to ride one, and it was perhaps one of the happiest moments of my life. Due to my obvious glee following the camel excursion, it was suggested that I purchase a camel and ride it home, using the camel not only as a ship of the desert but also as a ship of the sea. I am seriously considering this option.

(Erikson, a refugee social worker, leading the way. I will buy a camel one day.)

Life at Shimelba refugee camp has been interesting thus far and I am learning a lot. The name “Shimelba” is a result of the smashing together of two words: “name” and “there is no,” or “the place with no name.” At first I found this to be a bit harsh and it didn’t seem nearly as bad as had been described to me by former Shimelba refugees now living in the DC area. It seemed like any other Ethiopian town- there are small shops set up, a market area, cafes for drinkingtea/coffee, DSTV houses that show soccer games and movies, a stadium for actually playing soccer, restaurants for eating tasty lamb with injera, and even a nice school. In fact, I even found it nicer than most Ethiopian towns in some ways- water is provided by the IRC and there is an abundant flow (not what I was expecting from a refugee camp). Food is distributed monthly by the UN, so all the children appear to be healthy. There are ceiling fans, which I don’t think I have ever seen in this country. And the whole scene is set to a backdrop of gentle rolling hills. The IRC offices/ the housing where we live is set on top of a hill overlooking the entire camp and it is tempting to look out over everything and think that it is all simply picturesque. Then I stayed here for a month.

(A favorite evening hangout overlooking Shimelba)

It’s not just the weather, though it tends to bear the brunt of the blame. It really is amazingly hot. It feels like the sun has become your personal adversary, out to slay you whenever you attempt the smallest of tasks. People say that this is the “cool” season, but they are delirious and don’t know what they are talking about. I don’t want to think about what the hot season is like. The air here is so still, making the heat omnipresent and constant. The heat becomes trapped in things, like your bed sheets or your clothes, giving the impression that you are being baked in an oven. The only relief is at night if the rains come, bringing with it a breeze and magnificent lightening storms. However, more often than not, the rains haven’t been coming as expected, which is a cause for concern.

The real reason people take issue with Shimelba is because it is an in-between place. It isn’t necessary to give these types of places a name. You don’t think you’ll be there long enough to warrant a name. No one wants to be here, but they can’t go back where they came from and they don’t yet have permission to go forward. Everyone is waiting for permission for something: to complete their education or start a business or find a job that would support them and their families. And while they are waiting, a lot of time is passing. Some have been waiting here for as long as 7 years and you can hear a tone of futility in their voices as they talk about the ineffectiveness of the system they are trapped in. The Ethiopian government just opened a limited number of positions for Eritrean refugees to attend university, but its not enough. They also just began allowing the refugees to move to urban cities if they can demonstrate that they have sufficient support from family and friends, but few have that kind of support. In 2008, the UN started resettling refugees from Shimelba, mostly to the US, but the process is slow and most are still just waiting.

For the past month, I’ve been teaching Cultural Orientation courses to refugees who are in the waiting stage before resettling to the US. The course lasts for two weeks, with one group meeting in the morning and another in the afternoon. Our second round of classes has just finished and they’ve been a lot of fun. In total, around 200 refugees participated and hopefully they are now a bit more prepared for what is to come. I’ve also been working on revising the Cultural Orientation curriculum, which has been a bit challenging with minimal access to electricity and no internet, but it’s coming together. And finally, I’ve been drafting budget and funding proposals to try and get some money directed to the refugees that are resettling. It’s hard to get funding for projects like this because donors tend to be more focused on hot issues, like the unaccompanied minors who are flocking to Ethiopia from Eritrea or the massive drought that is taking place in the Somali region. Those who are resettling don’t have imminent needs and thus much less funding is given. However, if refugees have realistic expectations about what life will be like once they arrive in the US, the transition process is at least a bit smoother and it can make a big difference in their first few years in the States. Or at least that is the hope. Some of the students from the first class have already flown to the United States (they really enjoyed the fact that they would get there before me), so I’m hoping to follow-up with them in a few months to see if the course proved helpful.

(Tekle, a favorite student, after his name was posted for resettlement. He should be in the US now!)

Some highlights of my Shimelba experience include:

-getting to know the refugee social workers. These are refugees employed by the IRC to implement the different programs. I mostly worked with social workers from the Youth and Livelihood program and they are great. Two of them helped me by translating for the entire month, which was a huge task. Gebar and Dawit are incredibly bright, strong guys and have ridiculous, unbelievable stories. We grab tea after most classes and I have gained so much insight and perspective from them. Other social workers were kind to invite me to hang out with their families, drink coffee, and talk for hours… doing what those in Shimelba do best.

(With Gebar and Dawit outside our favorite tea house)

-making new friends. Before leaving DC, one of the refugees from Shimelba who resettled to DC and received his assistance from our office told me that I HAD to find his best friend who was still in Shimelba. And so I did. Jossy became a great friend and loyal ally. He runs a small shop in the camp and would sometimes venture to the world outside of Shimelba (the great beyond) and bring back luxury items such as bananas and candy. I also became great friends with the IRC staff, who are smart, dedicated, and adventurous.

(coffee ceremony at Jossy's house)

-finding the secret garden. One day, a favorite social worker of mine, Tukku, was waiting for me as soon as class got out and told me that we had to go somewhere immediately. Naturally, I followed him. We ended up in the secret garden of Shimelba, a wonderful place with trees and vines and flowers and green things and life. The mastermind behind it all is a refugee named Bekele who has the greenest thumb imaginable. A couple years ago, some Canadians were offering gardening classes to refugees (just repeating what I’m told. No idea why Canadians felt the need to teach farmers how to grow things, but there you have it) and this guy took to it like a champ. He fashioned benched and tables out of dirt bricks, allowing other refugees to come and find relief from the heat. For the guests’ reading pleasure, he has Canadian gardening magazines available to peruse. He also had 3 caged parrots and was growing sweet potatoes, a rare and tasty commodity. It was an entirely bizarre experience to have in the middle of a desert, but I couldn’t stay away after that.

(Hanging with Bekele in his garden)

-the 4th of July. This came at a crucial time. About halfway through my time in Shimelba, we hadn’t had cell phone service/ electricity/ rain for weeks, it was hot, my first group of students (who were awesome) had completed the course and the second group just didn’t seem as awesome yet (no worries- we warmed to each other in no time)…. Thus, it was imperative to do something to boost moral. I sent my computer with a driver going to town, had him charge it, and then arranged a movie night in order to celebrate. The IRC staff was just as doldrums-y as I was, so we all really got into it. Mattresses were dragged out onto the porch, popcorn was popped, and we chose a classic American film- The Shawshank Redemption. This was a great hit with the staff, largely due to a deep love in this country for Morgan Freeman. Following July 4th, Shimelba became known as ‘Shimelbashank’. I feel like the staff really identified with the film.

-discovering cactus fruit. A double-edged sword, I’ll tell you that much. A tasty, delicious and abundant fruit, akin to the passion fruit, but covered with skin-piercing thorns. Though that’s not the worst of it. When first introduced to the fruit, many people I talked to said that they didn’t eat it because it was known to cause constipation. This did not seem like an entirely negative thing to me, given some extenuating circumstances. Thus, I purchased a kilo of the tasty delights and commenced to eat them for breakfast because the other option was usually shredded, spicy injera, which is unacceptable in the morning and usually the cause of my extenuating circumstances. Around this same time, I began feel rather ill. I would wake up feeling fine, but usually an hour into my first class I would break out into a sweat, starthaving stomach cramps, and get light-headed. After an hour or so, I’d be fine again. I attributed it to dehydration and commenced an intense water-drinking regime. In the meantime, my extenuating circumstances were not improving and I was losing faith in the cactus fruit. My days continued in this terrible cycle until one day my friend said that she was surprised that I didn’t get sick after I ate the cactus fruit on an empty stomach. When I asked her why she would wait so long to say something, she just said she thought everyone knew that cactus fruit should only be eaten after other food. Lesson learned.

-Witnessing a Kunama wedding. The Kunama people make up a large population of Shimelba and they have a fascinating culture. They are known for being an extremely tight-knit community and, when asked if they would like to sign up for resettlement, the elders said sure… if they could all be resettled to the same place and if they would be allowed to take their camels, donkeys, and goats. Needless to say, most of them did not sign up for resettlement, preferring to stay together and with their livestock. Anyway, one day some friends and I were heading to hang out in the secret garden and along the way we ran into a Kunama wedding procession. It was out of control. I’ll post a video someday.

(The wedding procession and with friends Lemlem, Kidist, and Alem after the bride and groom passed by)

-Renewing my love of sports. The canteen on the IRC compound, where the staff eats meals, is equipped with satellite television. Except for the few times I was able to gain control of the remote, if we had electricity we were watching either sporting events or music videos. Good news is, I am now caught up on all the songs the kids are listening to these days. The best part though, was the community that arose around the sports. We first got into Wimbledon and did our best to mimic the moves of our favorite players. If the electricity went out, we took our newly acquired skills to the Ping-Pong table and started fierce competitions. When anyone made a particularly good shot we would yell “NADAL!!!!!” or “SHARAPOVA!!!!,” the camp favorites. Needless to say, we were rather devastated when they both lost…

(An intense ping-pong tournament with the IRC guys)

After Wimbledon, we became rather obsessed with the Women’s World Cup and I’ll be the first to admit that I would tolerate nothing but single-minded support for team USA. Some tried to cheer for Brazil, France, Sweden, the UK. Others expressed sympathy for Japan. I would have none of it. Before the games, IRC staff and any visitors were required to learn at least the key sections of the Star Spangled Banner and sing along. Tragically, the electricity went out 33 minutes into the final and we were left not knowing the result. Perhaps this was for the best. The next day was rough.

(celebrating American victory over France... our last chance to celebrate)

So that’s probably enough for now… sorry about the lack of posting. Internet was hard to come by, so I lost some motivation. However, I’m back in Addis now (most of this post was written last week), wrapping up some final reporting. Heading back to the Finote in a few days to catch up with everyone, which I’m real happy about. Hope all is well!

Just do your business and don't look down . . .

I’ve made it to Shire (pronounced “Shi-ray,” there are no hobbits here)! Shire and I got off to a bit of a rocky start. I was told that there was an airport in Shire and that the IRC would fly me up, a convenient arrangement as a road trip up from Addis would take 3 days. However, as the plane was descending and the rocky, red ground growing ever closer, I was struggling to identify anything that resembled a runway or an airport. The pilot had made a point of announcing, in both Amharic and English, that he was allowing the co-pilot to land the plane, which I hadn’t really thought much of, but it was now making me nervous. When we were moments away from touching down, I realized the red rocks were our runway and the tin shed (even this is a generous description) was the airport. As we bounced our way to the “airport” through a cloud of red dust, herders were running around attempting to keep their animals out of the way and children were standing just on the edge of our rocky path to watch the arrival of the plane. It was not a safe program and I still don’t feel good about it.

Shire is an interesting town, a little bit larger than Finote Selam, but crawling with international aid workers. It’s close to a contested portion of the Ethiopian/ Eritrean border, so everyone has an office here. There are two nice-ish places to eat/ drink coffee in town, so I end up eating my meals with the IOM (International Office of Migration) office head, Chinese construction workers, and various other expats who have been placed here. It’s an interesting experience and I’ve enjoyed hearing the stories of people who have been in the development/ relief business for years.

The IRC is operating in two refugee camps in the area and I arrived just in time for the annual grant-opening meeting (where they share how each program will use the funds that have been allotted to them for the year) and staff retreat. It was really quite good timing as I got to spend time with the entire staff and see historical sights around the Tigray region, which I had never seen before. I was also glad I had the opportunity to sit in on the grant meetings, as it has been good to hear what activities the different programs are implementing (water and sanitation, gender based violence, child and youth protection, livelihoods, education, etc).

The people I am working with are hilarious, interact together so well, and immediately made me feel like part of the team. They are from all different parts of Ethiopia and yet they treat each other like family. The staff is extremely male dominated, but the women handle it well and always have a response for any teasing comment the guys send their way. I think the girls are happy to have a boost in their ranks, so I’ve been trying to keep up with the constant joking and am working on my quick Amharic retorts.



I will confess that I have completely lost track of how many places we visited during this 4-day retreat. Being thrown into Tigray was a great way to get started, but also completely overwhelming. They speak a different language, Tigrinya, but have many of the same traditions and culture as the rest of Ethiopia. It was disconcerting to be in a country I feel so familiar with, but to be starting over again with language. Also, the look of this region is completely different- I’m not in the injera-basket anymore! A vast majority of our time was spent driving through the countryside, which, I am convinced, is one big rock. Everything is made of rock. Roads, houses, churches, cafes, the fields the farmers were plowing… Massive hunks of rock merge together to form striking mountains and cliffs, though sometimes they stand alone like they were dropped from the sky. I think it might even rain rocks here, if it were ever to rain.

Northern Ethiopia is considered to be the origin of the Ethiopian empire, so there are ruins dating back to 5th century BC (approximate) when settlers came from Yemen (though some say that Ethiopians were here first and then influenced Yemen). Regardless, there is a temple in a village called Yeha made from perfectly fitted, huge squares of stone that apparently resembles Yemeni architecture. No concrete was involved and yet the building is still standing centuries later. They also found ancient rock tablets with Sabean script carved into them, which they think was the linguistic predecessor of Gi’ze, which gave birth to Tigrinya, which begat Amharic (kind of). I am accustomed to seeing such things safely shielded in the glass cases of museums, but not here! These tablets were kept in an attic over a food storage shed and were shown to us as an afterthought when we kept asking questions about the origin of the temple. Ethiopia is awesome.



A group of us also went to see a remote rock-hewn Orthodox church. Some people opted out of this excursion and I assumed it was because they were too tired to hike 20 minutes to get there. There are some things that I forgot/ weren’t clearly communicated: 1) when a rural Ethiopian guide says “20 minutes,” you must assume that he means more than an hour. 2) Reaching the church required scaling a mountain and walking across an exposed plank over a 700ft drop. The title of this blog was sound advice given in regards to a particularly foul latrine (shint beyt!) situation, but I’ve found it to be applicable in various settings over the past week. Even with the “don’t look down” mantra running through my head, there came a point (after climbing barefooted up the mountain face, wondering at the inspiration that drove people to build a church in such an impossible to reach place, but before the exposed plank) that I decided I had seen plenty of Orthodox churches and that I would just enjoy the view. I felt great about the decision, but our guide- a 65-year-old priest who moved like a mountain goat up that beast of a rock- was less than pleased. I offered to build a handrail and then come across, but he didn’t seem to feel there was a need for that. Curious.



That's the update for now! I've made it out to the camp and am loving it! More soon! Miss you all!

And We’re Back!

All is well in Addis Ababa, where the coffee remains strong and the people as friendly as ever! The first week or so has been a fun time reconnecting with friends, finding a trusty vegetable vendor, and attending many programs (from here on, the word ‘program’ will be used to describe a myriad of activities, in true Ethio-style). A friend from AU, Alexis, and I travelled from DC together and were immediately taken to a lunch program at my good friends’, Teshager and Mame, house upon arrival. Their mom had piping-hot shiro ready and waiting, which is the only way to be welcomed back to Ethiopia.

(Alexis and I, as foreigners, paid 20 birr to receive these pink slips and gain access to a "rock hewn church in a cave." Clearly, this is just a very small rock hole, not even worthy of being called a cave. There is no church in this rock hole... in fact, the church is built above the hole. Not only was the advertising false, but the guys only had to pay 3 birr to gain access to the hole. So much injustice.)

(Alexis and I touring King Menelik and Queen Taitu's original palace outside of Addis)

Tesh, Mame, Alexis, and I spend most of the weekend with our great friend, Ermais. Ermi’s brother recently passed away in a bad car wreck and we arrived just in time to attend the 40-day memorial. Ethiopian funerals are done in stages, with the first ceremony immediately following the death, followed by more ceremonies 40 days after, 60 days after, and a year later. For Ermi’s brother’s memorial, we went to the church early in the morning, had a short service lead by a priest, and then saw the uncovering of the headstone. It was such a sad time and you could almost feel the death of this family’s son/brother become a reality to them. However, the priest gave a strong message, calling on the family to maintain faith and not focus on asking the ‘why’ questions.

After the service, we all went back to Ermi’s parents house for breakfast. Ermi’s parents are well-respected business owners and it was so great to see their community gather around them. Everyone sat around for hours, offering support, distraction, and of course eating food. I had spent some time with Ermi’s family when I was last here in December, so it was good to see them again even though the occasion was sad.

(Hanging with Ermi, Mame, Tesh, Ermi's brother Simon, some guy, and Tesh/Mame's brother Iskahun)

(Ermi's brother Yohannes, Ermi, Simon, Biruk, and their mom)

In sharp contrast, the rest of the week was spent preparing for a wedding! Over the past year in DC, I have become great friends with Meron through working with her at the IRC and attending the same program at AU with Alexis. The week was a mad dash, trying to get everything together for the big days (plural- so many programs). Meron’s husband’s family all came over from the States, so it was fun to hang out with them and see Addis through their eyes. This past weekend was full of much dancing, more food, and much time spend with Meron’s awesome grandma.

(Meron and Dave!)

(Grandma was trying to get me to sing... which wasn't going to happen)

This week, Alexis headed out to Southern Sudan to start her practicum and I started orientation for mine in the main office. On Monday I'll be going north to the refugee camp, which is in a region I've never been before. I’m excited get to work and start pulling together all the pieces of what people are telling me here. More later!

school.

This afternoon I received a missed call from my good friend Habtie. My Ethiopian friends often do this- call and then hang up quickly to avoid being charged exorbitant international rates. At first it's a gentle reminder that I have become absent, but if I don't call back in a timely manner the calls become more insistent. For some curious reason, they enjoy "miss calling" me in the middle of the night here, which is fun.

However, today Habtie called while I was doing some homework and provided a much needed distraction. When I called back, I learned that Habtie was visiting his family in the rural area and they wanted to say hello as well. I visited Habtie's family just before leaving Ethiopia and it was by far the most rural place I had ever been in my life. There is no electricity, no running water, no transportation, no iced coffee... just rolling hills of crops as far as you can see. I was shocked to discover that there was cell phone reception... if you climbed a hill that was a 15- minute walk away from where Habtie's parents lived. I can't describe how bizarre it was: sitting at a crowded Starbucks in the middle of Dupont Circle at 2 in the afternoon and picturing Habtie, his dad, mom, and brother all standing on a hill, at dusk, in the middle-of-nowhere- Ethiopia.

It was especially befitting that Habtie called when he did, as I was reading an article discussing "Quality of Life." The author discusses different efforts to quantify quality of life, to establish a standard, or even to simply define "quality of life." The attempts fall short because, though we all know quality when we see it, the factors that combine and result in a life of quality are different from person to person, community to community. The author goes on to discuss this topic in terms of "progress" "growth" and "development," which was actually pretty interesting. The conclusion of all these articles I'm reading seems to be that "development" is not a word that can be easily defined and, if we are not careful, it can be used for personal gain rather than for the good of the community.

In reading, it's striking how often the different authors return to the concepts of development arising out of a "foundation of ethics." One even went as far to say that a spiritually barren community would not be able to appreciate the fruits of development. The topic of faith is often broached, but never fully discussed. In our discussions in class, faith has yet to be mentioned, which I also find interesting. This is my first time since the 7th grade to be at a school where faith in Christ is not the common denominator. At Shiloh and at Samford, it was pretty clearly stated that our purpose was to reflect Christ and that purpose was to be the foundation of our vocation. I now find myself at a school where 'service' is the common denominator. Our discussions circle around the 'whys' and 'hows' of service, but there isn't a conclusive answer. I feel like saying, "we're serving because Christ is compelling us to demonstrate His love for people. Now can we move on?"

I am really enjoying school, though I am up to my neck in reading assignments which I am clearly procrastinating from. It has been fun getting to know my new classmates, though they are intimidating in their focus and experience. I think my favorite professor will be the slightly disorganized South African... largely because he can speak Xhosa, a click language. That's just amazing. I think it may have been a little ambitious to start a new job the same week as school, but things can only get better...

In conclusion: my favorite moment of my conversation with Habtie? When he delivered this message from his grandmother: I want to see the white person one more time before I die. I'm now wondering if she realizes that there is more than one white person out here...

Work.

To be clear from the start: I never intended to use this blog space once I returned to the states. It seemed like a great idea while living overseas- a way to share thoughts and life when other forms of communication were either too expensive or too slow. Writing updates in the states felt redundant when there are phones, text messages, e-mails, and facebook. But I've realized that during my two years of writing in this space, I began to use it to draw connections between what I was thinking and what was going on in life. This doesn't always come naturally to me and it helps me to see my thoughts become words. And so here I am again.

These past few weeks have been a bit overwhelming- thus the need to air out some thoughts. Last week one of my supervisors was senselessly beaten by a gang of punks kids in broad daylight, on a busy street, in a nice part of town, outside of a Whole Foods store. Though he is recovering well, it was scary at first- they fractured his skull, cracked his check-bone, and they were concerned about internal bleeding. Then yesterday, my peace corps group found out that one of our friends who was diagnosed with leukemia last month has taken an extreme turn for the worse. It has been hard to get the phone calls from friends who are so upset, to feel so helpless. It seems that these unexpected tragedies serve to remind us of our frail nature and give us no choice but to rest in God's grace, though sometimes you just want wallow in the 'why?'

Life now finds me in DC, which is bittersweet in so many ways. I have envisioned myself living here, in a row house with great windows, since high school. Life in DC is full- never a shortage of things to be done nor of people who are doing things. I work at a refugee resettlement agency that assists people who are just arriving in America to adjust and start new lives. Both the people I work with and the clients we serve are inspiring. A mixture of nationalities and thus a mixture of perspectives on life. Many have overcome great hardships and arrive here only to discover a new set of challenges. Somehow they continue to persevere with optimism and I am constantly amazed at their strength.

Though I try not to be biased, clearly my favorite clients are the Ethiopians. I'll just admit it. Yet, though I love working with them, sometimes it is difficult for me to hear their stories. One woman endured years of persecution, imprisonment, and torture because she was an active member of the wrong political party. Her sister was also active in this group and in 2007 was imprisoned and killed at a military base 20 kilometers from the town I was living in at the time. To discover that these things were going on while I was there, so close to where I was... nauseating. And then to realize that I can offer this woman no respite now that she is in my country. Does she realize yet the difficulties she will face trying to find adequate, affordable health-care? Will I be the one to tell that at her age and with her limited English she doesn't have a shot at finding a job that meets her expectations?

Additional frustration comes when seeing how other people interact with our clients. Part of my responsibilities include going with clients on errands when they need help- to the bank, social security office, border patrol, social services, and the like. Though I realize people in these offices are over-worked, I don't know that their behavior can be excused. They are rude, short, and refuse to look at people in the eye. Maybe they know that if they take time to look, they will see the burdens that these people carry with them. Maybe that is to much for them to handle on top of the mountains of work they already have. I don't know. But it is no excuse.

Take, for instance, my recent trip to the Social Services office. The client I was with had a stroke when he was at a refugee camp in Kenya and as a result he walks and speaks a bit slower than he used too. On this day, he and his sisters were supposed to meet me at the SSA office but for some reason the sisters sent him out on his own. He arrived 45 minutes late, having gotten on the wrong bus and was clearly distraught. He is a proud Ethiopian man who rarely allows his weaknesses to overwhelm him, but on this day it was too much for him. He burst into tears as soon as he saw me, frustrated with himself, his sisters, and the bus driver who wouldn't help him find his way back. At 9:45 am, it was the start of a very long day. The clerks gave him a hard time for being late, they wouldn't listen to his questions, nor would they leave time for me to translate. One clerk, herself an Ethiopian, refused to talk to him in Amharic and instead made me translate, though I asked her numerous times to talk directly to her client. And though I couldn't get her to talk the client in Amharic, at the end of the conversation she spoke to me in Amharic in order to compliment me on my Amharic. I wondered: what would happen if I just allowed my frustration the scream that it so desired? If the whole experience was incredibly dehumanizing for me, I can't even imagine how my client felt. And I wonder how often he feels that way on any given day. The life of a refugee seems so lonely.

Though there are a lot of disheartening moments, there are numerous instances when you're just so encouraged by your fellow US citizens. Once, outside of a CVS, two police officers started talking with the Burmese clients I was with. These clients speak very little English, but I figured it would be good practice for them and the cops seemed patient enough. By the time I had purchased what we needed and come back outside, the cops had figured out what where the kids were from, that they were refugees, and what neighborhood they lived in. The cops gave the kids their cards, promised to keep an eye on their neighborhood, and told them to call if they ever had trouble. I may have been over-enthusiastic in my appreciation... But to find cops who see the individuals! Who stop and talk! In DC! Who would have thought it possible?

Though this internship has stretched me (on somedays, to borrow a high school expression, I think the rubber band has popped), I don't think I have ever learned so much in such a short period of time. Some of it seems so cliche, but time management, organization, data collection, how to communicate effectively. These seem like good skills to acquire and I am slowly becoming more comfortable in my role. I feel that I am getting better at answering questions, though sometimes when I replay in my head the information that I have given a client I hope that I didn't just make everything up. I am thankful to be here now, though I will also be thankful when school starts. This 9-5 schedule is a terrible idea.

Snowpocalypse.

I know- it's cliche and overused, but I just don't know how else to describe it. It's a disaster that never stops. You think it has, but then it keeps coming back for more. Literally immeasurable quantities of snow!! Ok, that's not true at all... but when you're watching the local news as much as I have been, you tend to become a little more dramatic in your speech patterns.

Over the past week my Exterra and I have been through some bonding moments. Exterra and I have been on rocky terms for the past four years. There is always that loyalty to your first car that the Exterra could never overcome and then the long-distance relationship definitely put a strain on things. I'll be the first to admit that I was holding back from the Exterra. Not anymore. When it survives this:

you know it can handle anything. Then, when it gets stuck in the middle of an icy intersection and your good friend, Will, has to come dig you out, you don't blame the Exterra. No. You realize it was your own fault for not turning off the anti-slip feature and apologize for thinking that Exterra is anything but indestructible. Then the Exterra teaches you that icy roads are not something to be feared but rather to be viewed as large four-wheeler courses. It invites you to approach roads such as these

with glee.

That being said, I have made my way to Washington DC via Pennsylvania! It's been a great time of catching up with family. I was able to spend quality time with the Grandparents and they're just great.

It was a new experience, going to the Happy Valley home when it is not busting at the seems with innumerable relatives (dramatic language again). So nice to really talk and hear stories from Korea, from the farming days, from when my dad was a kid.

From Happy Valley I headed to experience the everyday lives of more PA relatives! There were dorm rooms, snow shoveling, and hyenas surrounding leopards who had just killed a gazelle... things got pretty intense.

A person can only handle so much of the Pennsylvania/African bush, so I reluctantly headed towards DC in order to visit Universities and attend conferences, which was the whole purpose for embarking on this journey. Too bad snowpocalyse shut everything down. But yay for galavanting in the snow with friends!

Also, one of my favorite Peace Corps staff members is in the country! Girma was our training director/father figure for the first three months in Ethiopia and became a great friend. He and his wife, Kokobie, were so hospitable, so fun, and so helpful throughout the past two years... it was just so refreshing to see them! Also, I have a theory- Ethiopians are like magnets. Wherever they go, other Ethiopians are drawn towards them. On the metro, at the coffee shop, walking around the capitol building. It's ridiculous.

Dear Ohio,

One of my good Ethiopian friends, Habtie, is convinced that Ohio is the promised land. His dream in life is to live there and when asked why he will say, "that is where the Christians live. Also, it is very like Ethiopia." I'll admit that I was dubious and tried to give Habtie some more realistic expectations based on my many experiences in Ohio (I spent a weekend in the Cincinnati suburbs once in the 8th grade). I told him it was a frozen wasteland with nothing to offer except industrial jobs, but he would have none of it saying, "I love Ohio."

I now find myself in Ohio as the inaugural stop on my tour de Northeast and am shocked to find that Ohio is, in fact, very like Ethiopia. I know this must come as a surprise, but I have examples:

#1- They're big into agriculture in these parts.

Ohio:

Ethiopia:

You'll notice that my 'frozen wasteland' comments are not far off the mark for Ohio...

#1a- Living conditions of farmers adequately reflect their contribution to their respective economies. For instance, farmers are the back-bone of the Ethiopian economy (43% of GDP) and they live in palaces such as this:

Contrast that to American farmers, who comprise only 1.2% of our GDP... they're practically living in mud huts.

#2- Donkeys!!!

Compare and contrast: Size and woolliness of Ohio donkeys to their Ethiopian counterparts.

Though Ohio donkeys are fatter and fuzzier, I firmly believe that Ethiopian donkeys have a higher quality of life due to the fact that Ohio is so unbelievably freezing.

#3- Patriotism runs deep in our respective lands.

Thus far the trip has been quite the success! I first met up with great friends from Peace Corps, Gamechu (one who laughs/Chris) and Chaltu (one who has a big head/is intelligent/Liz). Chris and Liz were some of my closest friends in Ethiopia and their home became a safe haven for me turning our time there, providing much encouragement, many laughs, and cherished community. It has been just as encouraging seeing them here, as their home is filled with reminders of Ethiopia (namely their dog, Curdis, who was brought back from Ethioland) and they have been so intentional in their hospitality.

I've also been able to spend quality time with the Squeak! My little sister goes to college up in the middle-of-nowhere-wasteland-Ohio. It's been so fun to see her college life, eat her college food, go to college plays, and sleep in her college dorm room. She's like a real live person these days!

I conclude with a recommendation: do not go North during winter.

Baka.

One of my closest friends in Finote Selam is a prison guard named Tesfaye. He is one of my dependable ‘brothers,’ always up for my ridiculous ferenji (foreigner) requests: let’s take a four hour bus ride to eat shiro (my favorite food) in a town I’ve never been to; let’s make cheeseburgers; let’s play badminton in the middle of the road (as it turns out, a dangerous idea). Tesfaye has picked up a respectable amount of English from listening to the commentary during English Premier League Soccer games, but lacks the confidence to speak it very often. So when he does say something in English, you know he has given it a great deal of thought.

As we were walking the other day, Tesfaye turns to me and says, “Kris. Good behavior is best. Baka.” (Baka: I’m finished. Enough. I don’t need to say anymore.) Over the past few months, Tesfaye has met some of my closest friends from home who have come to visit the Finote and was referring to them. He went on to say that he could tell just by their behavior that they love people. He didn’t have to understand their language to know what was inside of them. This was a huge moment for me- to really understand how my two different worlds have come together, how they’ve impacted each other, and how my friends from home have made such a huge impression on my friends here. I’m not sure if this makes sense, but having that connection makes these past two years seem more real and gives me confidence that the relationships I’ve made here will continue even after I leave.


Speaking of two years, last month marked my second year in Ethiopia! I will say that the second year has gone much faster than the first-terrifyingly so. The past few months have been full of new experiences: visits from Samford friends Will and John, travels to Uganda to see Jen and then onto Rwanda, our Peace Corps final conference where Group One got together one last time, more visits to Ethiopia from Jamie and Jen (3rd time!!!), and travels down to Southern Ethiopia. It has been a great time of learning about this East African region I have been living in, a huge opportunity to really appreciate all the different cultures that occupy a relatively small corner of the world together. Whenever I return to the Finote after a trip, my friends will ask me to “compare and contrast” where I have been with the Finote. I always come back to the same observation: sure, it’s different and their culture seems incredibly strange to us, but they are more similar than they are foreign. The kids there ask for pens so they can go to school just like the kids here do. They encounter the same struggles with food, water, and electric supply as we do here… and they overcome with the same ingenuity and creativity. The hope for a better future is the same everywhere.

In preparing to say good-bye to the Finote, I’ve been analyzing what exactly it is about this place that makes me so hesitant to leave. What has made this past year so different and when did my mud house turn into a home? I think much of it has to do with the sense of community that is here. Though sometimes it drives me crazy that it takes me 30 minutes just to get out of my neighborhood, I also love it. I love that the little kids run up to me to demonstrate what they learned at school that day. I love sitting down at our local shoeshine stand with the high schoolers, comparing and contrasting whatever the day’s topic is. I love that when I go to my favorite café, they know just how I like my macchiato (more milk than coffee, tons of sugar). And I appreciate, though am still slightly uncomfortable, when the little old lady on my road comes up and kisses my shoulders three times. This is the first time that I’ve really participated in neighborhood life as an adult and it will be sad to leave these people that have become my home away from home. I’m scared to go home, to get in my car and drive out of my neighborhood everyday rather than walking. I’m sad to lose the familiarity that I struggled so long to establish here.

However, there are those instances in which I just can’t help but think about how much easier everything will be once I’m not here… An example: two weeks ago, a South African man ended up in the Finote Selam jail. George had been riding his motorcycle from Cape Town to Cairo and unfortunately had an accident outside of the Finote. He had to spend three nights in the Finote jail while the police tried to figure out what to do with him. Whenever another white person shows up in the Finote, I am promptly informed that my ‘relative’ has arrived. When I learned that my ‘relative’ was in jail, I thought I should go check it out. I felt awful for poor George and couldn’t imagine being in his situation so I tried to make his stay easier- loaning him sheets, a pillow, some peanut butter, and two books.

After George left, I went back to the jail to collect my belongings. The first day the police couldn’t find the key to the room, the next day it was raining which clearly meant they couldn’t be bothered to open the door, the third day the key had been found but the guard who had it had left for the rural area. Each time they took my phone number and assured me they would call me as soon as the key was available. Each time I tried not to be frustrated. There are bigger problems in life… but you get to the point where you really just want your sheets back.

Finally, I went back and- miracle of all miracles- it’s a sunny day and both the key and the guard are available!! We open the door and … all that is in the room is my pillow lying on the floor in a cloud of dust. That’s fine. A start. But where are my sheets? This caused a slight panic, which soon grew to involve seven guards and the police inspector. At the end they said, don’t worry- we’ll call you when we find them. To which I politely responded, “yes, you’ve said this before, but do you have even one of the three papers I that I wrote my phone number on?” Blank stares. I then proceeded to ask permission to search every room on the jail compound, which was met with hesitation. My logic was, “you are all police officers right?” Yes. “So none of you are thieves?” Correct. “So then my stuff has to be here somewhere?” Uhhh…. Maybe?

I went from room to room looking under desks, in filing cabinets, went into the prisoner’s room and checked the sheets on all the cots… I had quite the following, police officers all muttering that I was ‘clever’ and ‘very thorough.’ Finally, I went to the guard hut where the on-guard officer sleeps at night. I noticed a rather bulky bag hanging on the wall and asked to check it, which guard man seemed to have no problem with. When I opened it, I discovered my sheets, peanut butter, and books wrapped rather deliberately in his blanket. How my belongings got there, neither of us had any idea… though he had been following me on my search (leaving the prisoners unattended- don’t worry about it) and knew what I was looking for. I estimate that over the past two weeks I have spent 3.25 hours at the jail asking for my things… and I wonder why I’m still surprised when simple things take so much time here? You want to be frustrated, you want to make things change, but then everyone is just so happy for you. They all want to shake your hand, congratulate you on your success… you have to walk out with a smile on your face, at least pleased that you’ve accomplished something this week.

So that’s life in Finote these days- thanks for reading! Sorry I’ve been out of touch for so long, but know that I’m looking forward to seeing you all soon! Much love!

West side for life

Let’s be honest- it’s been awhile. As a result, this may be a rather long update. Brace yourselves.

To fully grasp current events in Ethiopia, we must go back to April 18th, 9:45pm. It is at this time that my Ethio family demands that I go to sleep. Tomorrow is Easter (Fasika in Amharic; the equivalent of our Christmas to Orthodox Ethiopians) and I must be well rested. They will wake me at 2:00am to begin preparing the chicken feast. To be fair, I insisted on experiencing the holiday in its entirety. When they said 2:00am, what they really meant was 12:45… I really did enjoy my two-hour nap though. The whole family was up to watch the slaughtering of the chicken, though my landlord and the kids promptly went back to sleep. My landlady and I plucked, cleaned, and hacked our chicken into a tasty and delicious stew. When we finished, at 3:00am, we dressed in our finest clothing and headed to church. Naturally.

Nighttime is always eerie in Ethiopia. On normal days, everyone is indoors by 9:00pm at the latest. If you dare to venture out later than that, you will find yourself in a seemingly deserted town, haunted only by dogs and hyenas. The wee hours of Easter morning were equally eerie, except now the whole town was alive, swaddled in their white church clothes, walking the streets like ghosts. The church had the feeling of a place set apart- everyone chanting and bowing together, yet the darkness gave the worship a private, personal feel. Some of the more devout had been at church for 24 hours at this point; others hadn’t eaten for three days. When the service was over, people were jubilant. My friends and neighbors were enthusiastic in telling me that Christ has risen and we were forgiven. And now we must eat meat. Fifty-five days of fasting was over and everyone had a pot of chicken waiting at home.

Easter day was a lot like Christmas day, except with more blood. After eating our spicy chicken at 4:45 am (yummy!) and taking a short nap, we woke again to kill the goat! The whole day was spent at home with family- eating, napping, and then eating again. The day after was for socializing, going to friend’s homes and sharing more meat. Never in my life have I seen people so excited about eating. It was so fun to share this holiday with my Finote Selam community and feel like it really helped me understand so much more about the culture and traditions here.

Fast forward to May 5th, the day that the Jennifer Wilmore arrives in Ethiopia! You may recall that my college roommate came to Ethiopia last summer… I guess once you experience it, you find yourself drawn back! This time Jen was coming from Uganda, where she has been working since February. It was so fun to have her meet all the friends here, see where I’m living, and fulfill an item on my “do to before leaving Ethiopia” list: ride on a traditional papyrus canoe. They use these for fishing on Tana Lake in Bahir Dar and I’ve often watched them, wondering how they don’t sink. Papyrus is surprisingly buoyant. One of my good friends, Teshager, arranged this outing for us and came along- even though he can’t swim and is petrified of water. If you ask him about this experience he will only say, “I don’t want to do this ever again. But J. Lo, she is so nice.”

Having Jen here was so refreshing, a great reminder that communication can be a wonderful thing. It was so nice to share, to be understood fully, and to see how the challenges we are facing in East Africa are similar yet different. I find that the longer I am here, the more immune I get to the things happening around me. You can’t understand it all, take everything in, and so you push it out of your mind. So great to have my roommate come and force me to talk about what we are seeing everyday.

Recently, I ventured out with C. Smith and Jolene to East Gojam to celebrate another friend’s birthday. Christina lives in a pretty rural town, six hours down a dirt road. Once you get there, you never want to leave- partially because the road is so long and partially because the town is so cool. She has made great friends in her community and we spent the weekend hanging out with her students, distracting them when they were supposed to be studying for their exams. One of her students invited us out to his grandma’s house in the rural area and we spent a great afternoon hiking out along a gorge. One of the best things about getting together with other volunteers is that we know how to eat. We’re hours away from anything, yet we’re eating pasta with clam sauce and personal pizzas. It was incredible. Though I thoroughly enjoyed my time in the East, it must be stated that I live in West Gojam and our sugar cane is 78% more sweet than theirs.

In news from Finote Selam, our projects are carrying on!Surprisingly smoothly despite my doubts and fears! The school we are working with to start the mill project recently had a fundraiser to cover costs that weren’t met by the grant. I was skeptical, however the city administration came forward and offered to cover the whole cost of installing electricity. This is huge- a massive weight off my shoulders! They have started building the actually mill house, have purchased most of the big equipment, and should have things going by mid-summer. I know- I’m amazed myself. The resource center is also coming together, thanks to donations by great friends and family. We’re beginning computer classes this summer and also plan to have a weekly film night, which should be a good way to attract people and let them know it’s available.

Sad news, for me, is that summer is upon us. As happy as all the students are to be done, it’s tragic for me to see my friends go back to the rural areas for the summer. As many of them are graduating and going onto university in the fall, I am already saying goodbye to good friends. We did have a congratulations! party today for some of the seniors who live on my street featuring a home-made chocolate cake, popcorn, pineapple, and Crystal Light juice mixes. Though they didn’t know what to make of cake with sugar in it- crazy concept, I know-much fun was had by all. And arrangements are being made to go visit their families in the rural areas this summer, which should be fun.

And that’s the update! Know that I would love to hear from you all! Much love!

Those lazy summer days…

I’ll be honest- the last few weeks have been a bit mundane, life in the Finote, work as usual. And while there is ample work to keep me busy during the day, I find the evenings and weekends to drag on a bit. Always tea/coffee to be had with friends, food to scrounge up, clothes to be washed, etc… but after a year and a half here, part of me is missing the thrill of new adventure. A girl can only read so much War and Peace before she’s ready to experience action for herself, you know?

All that waiting, studying, preparing invasion plans paid off today. Our days of endless sunshine and heat were interrupted this afternoon by a thunderstorm the likes of which I have never experienced… and I’ve seen some rain in my time. We’re talking hail, standing water up to the top of my stoop, leaks in my ceiling! No one could return to work or school after lunch and all were standing in our doorways gasping in astonishment. When Ethiopians are taken aback by rain, you know it’s a big deal.

Now my parents, in their vast wisdom, recently sent me three super soaker aquifier water guns that have been waiting impatiently to be used. What better time than now, when the heat makes us miserable by 9am? I had been holding off due to water shortages, but with gallons of water pouring off my roof by the second I knew this was the perfect opportunity.

The troops were gathered- two 8-year-old girls who live on my compound. Equipment was issued, trainings were given, surprise attack plans on the neighbors mapped out. The use of technology heretofore never seen in Finote Selam coupled with the element of surprise swung the beginning stages of the battle largely in our favor. They didn’t see us coming, never knew what hit them. However, I learned some valuable warfare lessons today. It should be stated that our neighbors are five boys ranging from age 16 to 25. While momentarily shocked at this unconventional aggression from usually peaceful neighbors, they were quick to regain equilibrium. And though we were using obviously superior artillery, we learned the hard way that sometimes brute force and simple weaponry overpowers even the best-laid plans. It is simple fact that having a bucket of water dumped over your head will get you more significantly wet than being shot by a super soaker aquifier. I wouldn’t call it a defeat- all forces were completely soaked at the time truce was declared… it’s just hard to say whether their soaking was more of a result of the rain or our attacks.

In work related news, we recently received grant money and are on our way to building a mill at the primary school here in town. It’s now in the logistical stages- building the mill house, getting electricity connected, purchasing the equipment. I’ve never been involved with something from start to finish like this before- implementing is an interesting process and takes so much more time and energy than one would anticipate. But it’s great working with the kids who will run the mill- all orphans struggling to pay for school fees, uniforms, workbooks, food, etc. We are having business training for them tomorrow in which hopefully they’ll learn things about saving, reinvesting in their business, etc.

Also, I’ve been trying to work on getting supplies into the libraries of the schools I’ve been working in. The situation is dismal to be honest. Every time you go in, 7 to 10 kids are sharing one resource book from the 1970s. Not sure, but I think some things have changed since then- country borders, recent history, all of science… The surgical team my aunt was here with was so generous to contribute money to any project I was working on- a very daunting experience to be handed money and told “use this however you think will most help people.” So I’ve begun buying books! The good ones are sold in Addis so I’m staging the purchasing process, buying as many books as I can haul back to the Finote on the bus. I started with the elementary school and they were so excited! Atlases, children’s books with pictures, those cool science books that explain why fish live in the sea and why Pluto isn’t a planet anymore (gosh how quickly science changes things). I was also able to purchase books written in Amharic, which I think is cool- there are so few and most resources are in English so it’s hard for the younger kids to get a whole lot out of them. It’s neat to be able to explain that these books came from friends and family in the states, people who have never met them but want to serve Ethiopia however they can- whether it be performing surgeries or giving books. I’ll stick my plug in now- if you have any books you want to get rid of, we will take them! Any subject, any grade, any language (well, English really). Just let me know

Know that I covet your prayers. It is often difficult to track what is being done, being learned, no easy way to measure if projects are going well or what needs to be improved. This tends to get me down, wondering if I’m wasting time or could be doing better. I’ve been praying that God will do what He will despite my getting in the way or fumbling things up. Pray for these kids, that this mill project will become theirs and that they will be excited for the opportunity to work together and improve their current situations. Pray for their families/ caretakers that they will appreciate the work that these kids are doing and not take advantage of the (anticipated) profits. Miss you all! Much love.