As I sit down to write about my experience to visit Abi, I’m overwhelmed. I am not sure that I am capable of finding words that can capture the essence of this trip…what it meant to me, the emotional cost it exacted, or the indescribable beauty of this place and these people. Many of you know that when I returned from being Stateside last October, I discovered that Abi was gone. His mother, Souwnet, was given a choice—lose the child or lose the job. Souwnet did what she had to do and took Abi to live with her mother in a community hours away from DebreMarkos. I was devastated to lose him, angry to hear of the choice she had to make, and at a loss as to how to help. I also truly thought that I would never see him again.
In February, I decided to make seeing Abi a reality rather than just a hope. I worked with Souwnet to obtain days away from work (KB’s Assertiveness Training) and then attempted to deal with logistics. The first of which was to determine exactly where Abi was and whether or not it was feasible for us (Smith, my sitemate, and I) to visit. Souwnet initially began by telling us that Abi lived in Mota, a decent sized town about 6 hours by bus from DebreMarkos. The next time I saw her, I confirmed. “So, we’re going to Mota?” Nope. It is at this point that I’m told that Abi actually lives in Gundwgn. I searched and searched my table-sized map (circa 1995) and couldn’t find anything called “Gundwgn” within a forearm’s circumference from Mota. I decided it would be best if Souwnet showed me. On her next visit to the house, I stood her in front of the map, and asked her to point in the general vicinity of Gundwgn. I’m pretty sure that this was the first time Souwnet had ever seen a map of her country. She was unable to locate our current position let alone the tiny little berg of Gundwgn. It was then that she decided Abi didn’t live in Gundwgn, but “nearby.” I gave up with needing to know specifically where we were headed, but instead settled on what we would be getting ourselves into. My questions started with the following: 1) do we reach Abi’s house by foot or by transport? (answer= transport), 2) Is this a town or rural area? (answer= town), Do we stay in a hotel or in Abi’s house? (answer= hotel). As it turned out none of the answers were correct! I’m not sure if it was a “lost in translation” moment or if Souwnet was deliberately softening her answers to ensure that we would still come. When I joined Peace Corps, I signed up for the “adventure of a lifetime.” Souwnet has definitely done her part to ensure that that holds true!
Fortunately I have good instincts. My premonition that we were being told half-truths led to a re-packing the night prior to our departure. We did not pack light, but we were prepared for any eventuality. Given that neither Smith nor I have a sleeping bag here, we threw in a set of sheets, 2 blankets, and a camp mat. We also carted our steri-pens (water purifiers), snacks, baby wipes (for the waterless sponge bath), Peaceful Sleep (this wonderful lotion that seems to keep the fleas at bay), and what I like to call “Burdett in a bag”—our amazing supply of medications for any ailment.
Monday we set out. The bus ride was truly uneventful—one of the first. We traveled for approximately 3 hours when Souwnet indicated that we had reached our destination. Our “destination” turned out to be a dusty hilltop collection of mud and stick shacks alongside a dirt road in what felt like the middle of nowhere. I naturally assumed this was where Abi lived. Nope. While Souwnet flitted about greeting friends and distance relations (big city girl returns to the sticks), Smith and I camped out in a tea house and ‘patiently’ waited. After an hour and a half our social butterfly decided it was time to head out. Our party of three, now a caravan of thirteen, headed out into the hills as Souwnet kindly reassured us that it wasn’t far. After 20 minutes of hiking in the heat of the day, I started with my first “are we there yet?” Like a parent toting kids on a family vacation, Souwnet promptly returned with “almost…just a little further.” After 90 minutes of trudging up hills, down hills, over creeks, through fields, and between herds of cattle and sheep we finally arrived…dehydrated, sun burnt, and exhausted (my nasty sinus infection did not help matters!).
I was so taken in with the idyllic setting that at first I didn’t even notice Abi standing among a collection of toddlers and young kiddos without an adult in sight. Other than the grubby, way too small, knitted blue pants and shirt I had given him, it was difficult to accept that this was indeed the spirited, clever, bubbly kid that was whisked away from DebreMarkos in October. The gebaray life is a hard one and unfortunately it is visible even on the faces of the youngest.
While we waited for Abi’s grandmother to return from parts unknown, Smith and I took a moment to take in our surroundings. Abi’s tiny little community is located on a gentle slope rising from the end of a long narrow valley. It consists of a primary school (which serves the population of the entire valley), 3 gojo beyts (the traditional round mud huts with thatched roof), a handful of government houses (square mud/stick house, but with a tin roof), and a wufcha beyt (mill) that is run off of diesel. The only water source is a small lazy creek that serves both man and beast and there is no electricity. We were pleasantly surprised, though, to find an outhouse (yes, only one for the community) located about a football field away from the congregation of houses.
Addis (Abi’s grandmother) eventually returned, warmly welcomed us as if we were long lost family, and graciously invited us into her home—our first gojo beyt. This is the same house that Souwnet and her brother grew up in and the place of Abi’s birth. As I ducked through the doorway, I was transported into another world much like Alice in Wonderland. It was an assault on the senses. Save for the doorway we entered through there was no other source of light. To the left was an elevated platform for sleeping and below a storage area. Ringing half of the main living space was a mud ledge approximatlely 12 inches off the ground that served as seating and workspace. In the middle, taking up most of the available floor space, was a fire pit emitting caustic black smoke that made our eyes water and our throats constrict. And, in addition to Addis and Abi, their beyt was shared with 2 hens, 5 chicks and the detritus that accompanies feathered friends. I truly had a laugh out loud moment when I saw the chickens. As a kid growing up on the farm, I vividly remember my Dad saying how dirty the chicken coop was and to try to avoid breathing that air. Abi and his grandmother, out of necessity, are cooking, eating, and sleeping alongside their chickens. What a different world!
Our first day in the community flew by. Our time was spent drinking coffee, visiting with the endless parade of guests that just had to stop by and meet the ‘farenji’ (we were the first to ever visit their community!), popping out of the gojo beyt for a breath of fresh air, entertaining the kids, and bathing Abi via creek water from a jerry can. Before we knew it nightfall was upon us and our sleeping accommodations were yet unknown. As we sat in the gojo beyt earlier in the day the thought did cross my mind that there was not even enough floor space for me to stretch out without being half in the fire pit. Not to worry. Addis was way ahead of us and had found a young agricultural worker who was willing to give up his room. Much to our surprise (and elation) we actually slept in a real bed!
As we settled in for the night, it hit me how amazing, unique, and surreal this experience is. I suspect that there aren’t many foreigners who have experienced this side of Ethiopia. I truly am blessed to have Ethiopian friends from all walks of life who graciously and unabashedly invite me into their hearts and homes.
In February, I decided to make seeing Abi a reality rather than just a hope. I worked with Souwnet to obtain days away from work (KB’s Assertiveness Training) and then attempted to deal with logistics. The first of which was to determine exactly where Abi was and whether or not it was feasible for us (Smith, my sitemate, and I) to visit. Souwnet initially began by telling us that Abi lived in Mota, a decent sized town about 6 hours by bus from DebreMarkos. The next time I saw her, I confirmed. “So, we’re going to Mota?” Nope. It is at this point that I’m told that Abi actually lives in Gundwgn. I searched and searched my table-sized map (circa 1995) and couldn’t find anything called “Gundwgn” within a forearm’s circumference from Mota. I decided it would be best if Souwnet showed me. On her next visit to the house, I stood her in front of the map, and asked her to point in the general vicinity of Gundwgn. I’m pretty sure that this was the first time Souwnet had ever seen a map of her country. She was unable to locate our current position let alone the tiny little berg of Gundwgn. It was then that she decided Abi didn’t live in Gundwgn, but “nearby.” I gave up with needing to know specifically where we were headed, but instead settled on what we would be getting ourselves into. My questions started with the following: 1) do we reach Abi’s house by foot or by transport? (answer= transport), 2) Is this a town or rural area? (answer= town), Do we stay in a hotel or in Abi’s house? (answer= hotel). As it turned out none of the answers were correct! I’m not sure if it was a “lost in translation” moment or if Souwnet was deliberately softening her answers to ensure that we would still come. When I joined Peace Corps, I signed up for the “adventure of a lifetime.” Souwnet has definitely done her part to ensure that that holds true!
Fortunately I have good instincts. My premonition that we were being told half-truths led to a re-packing the night prior to our departure. We did not pack light, but we were prepared for any eventuality. Given that neither Smith nor I have a sleeping bag here, we threw in a set of sheets, 2 blankets, and a camp mat. We also carted our steri-pens (water purifiers), snacks, baby wipes (for the waterless sponge bath), Peaceful Sleep (this wonderful lotion that seems to keep the fleas at bay), and what I like to call “Burdett in a bag”—our amazing supply of medications for any ailment.
Monday we set out. The bus ride was truly uneventful—one of the first. We traveled for approximately 3 hours when Souwnet indicated that we had reached our destination. Our “destination” turned out to be a dusty hilltop collection of mud and stick shacks alongside a dirt road in what felt like the middle of nowhere. I naturally assumed this was where Abi lived. Nope. While Souwnet flitted about greeting friends and distance relations (big city girl returns to the sticks), Smith and I camped out in a tea house and ‘patiently’ waited. After an hour and a half our social butterfly decided it was time to head out. Our party of three, now a caravan of thirteen, headed out into the hills as Souwnet kindly reassured us that it wasn’t far. After 20 minutes of hiking in the heat of the day, I started with my first “are we there yet?” Like a parent toting kids on a family vacation, Souwnet promptly returned with “almost…just a little further.” After 90 minutes of trudging up hills, down hills, over creeks, through fields, and between herds of cattle and sheep we finally arrived…dehydrated, sun burnt, and exhausted (my nasty sinus infection did not help matters!).
I was so taken in with the idyllic setting that at first I didn’t even notice Abi standing among a collection of toddlers and young kiddos without an adult in sight. Other than the grubby, way too small, knitted blue pants and shirt I had given him, it was difficult to accept that this was indeed the spirited, clever, bubbly kid that was whisked away from DebreMarkos in October. The gebaray life is a hard one and unfortunately it is visible even on the faces of the youngest.
While we waited for Abi’s grandmother to return from parts unknown, Smith and I took a moment to take in our surroundings. Abi’s tiny little community is located on a gentle slope rising from the end of a long narrow valley. It consists of a primary school (which serves the population of the entire valley), 3 gojo beyts (the traditional round mud huts with thatched roof), a handful of government houses (square mud/stick house, but with a tin roof), and a wufcha beyt (mill) that is run off of diesel. The only water source is a small lazy creek that serves both man and beast and there is no electricity. We were pleasantly surprised, though, to find an outhouse (yes, only one for the community) located about a football field away from the congregation of houses.
Addis (Abi’s grandmother) eventually returned, warmly welcomed us as if we were long lost family, and graciously invited us into her home—our first gojo beyt. This is the same house that Souwnet and her brother grew up in and the place of Abi’s birth. As I ducked through the doorway, I was transported into another world much like Alice in Wonderland. It was an assault on the senses. Save for the doorway we entered through there was no other source of light. To the left was an elevated platform for sleeping and below a storage area. Ringing half of the main living space was a mud ledge approximatlely 12 inches off the ground that served as seating and workspace. In the middle, taking up most of the available floor space, was a fire pit emitting caustic black smoke that made our eyes water and our throats constrict. And, in addition to Addis and Abi, their beyt was shared with 2 hens, 5 chicks and the detritus that accompanies feathered friends. I truly had a laugh out loud moment when I saw the chickens. As a kid growing up on the farm, I vividly remember my Dad saying how dirty the chicken coop was and to try to avoid breathing that air. Abi and his grandmother, out of necessity, are cooking, eating, and sleeping alongside their chickens. What a different world!
Our first day in the community flew by. Our time was spent drinking coffee, visiting with the endless parade of guests that just had to stop by and meet the ‘farenji’ (we were the first to ever visit their community!), popping out of the gojo beyt for a breath of fresh air, entertaining the kids, and bathing Abi via creek water from a jerry can. Before we knew it nightfall was upon us and our sleeping accommodations were yet unknown. As we sat in the gojo beyt earlier in the day the thought did cross my mind that there was not even enough floor space for me to stretch out without being half in the fire pit. Not to worry. Addis was way ahead of us and had found a young agricultural worker who was willing to give up his room. Much to our surprise (and elation) we actually slept in a real bed!
As we settled in for the night, it hit me how amazing, unique, and surreal this experience is. I suspect that there aren’t many foreigners who have experienced this side of Ethiopia. I truly am blessed to have Ethiopian friends from all walks of life who graciously and unabashedly invite me into their hearts and homes.
Heading out into the unknown. No road or path to follow. Thankgoodness we are traveling with Souwnet!
A view of Abi’s community
Yes! An outhouse!! Truly a cause for celebration.
Bathtime
Souwnet, Abi, a cousin, Smith, Me
Abi in front of his home
Inside the gojo beyt, Souwnet and her mom, Addis, work to prepare us a snack
