This concludes Tales of a White Girl in the Horn as this white girl is no longer in the Horn. To be continued until this white girl’s next visit to the beautiful, ugly, confusing, enlightening, homogenous and diverse country that is Ethiopia.
Stay tuned for blog #2 and for links to my website where you an peruse photos, art and other musings by yours truly.
Out of Africa and into Holland.
Anna.
Ayenachew.
This blog entry is incredibly late in coming, however I wanted to take the time to share a little about Ayenachew.
The name Ayenachew means ‘one who has seen’ and in the case of this young man, 18 years of living amongst Addis’s poorest, has allowed him to see far more than one of his age should be allowed. When I say that he has seen, I am not referring to distant lands or exotic cultures, but to a deep and pervasive poverty of both the flesh and of the spirit, of watching siblings die of preventable diseases, of having your makeshift home wash away with the seasonal rains, of forever feeling on the fringe of society.
12 years ago the sponsorship project started in his k’ebele and it was that same year that I saw his name and face spread amongst a hundred other faces laid upon a table. It was an overwhelming montage of faces screaming out of their need to be loved. After scanning all of the other faces, his was the one that I kept returning to. Now, 12 years later, I had the opportunity to visit this young man in his home. Unfortunately, the experience came with unanticipated difficulties.
I have sponsored Ayenachew long enough to know that something was not quite right with him or at least suspected as much. The morning began with a drive out to the project compound where I was given an explanation of the ongoing projects and various programmes. The main office was a small, dark room with a slanted ceiling and unembellished walls, ornamented with but a solitary wall hanging of Jesus. On the floor I found several large framed panels, covered in dust and filled with the photos of each sponsored child. There in the upper right corner was a photo with the words Ayenachew Tolla and below that, my name. He was so young. I did not recognize him as I was looking for a much older boy amongst the many dust-covered faces. The guide explained to me that Ayenachew came from one of the poorest families in Ethiopia and began leafing through his file, showing me that it held records of every letter, which I had sent him over the years.
We are looking through his files and in he walks, this tall, lanky, handsome young man, notwithstanding his poor dental hygiene. As the translator tried to engage him in conversation, it became apparent that something was not quite right. He was painfully shy, but it was something more than that. He didn’t seem to be fully present; gaze darting back and forth and hands that often clutched his head. Over our time together I discovered that he had a hearing problem, which I was told he has had since birth. After inquiring I was assured that he has seen doctors and that they have all told him that they cannot operate until the pus stops draining from his ears. I am not an ear expert, but the whole story seemed a bit strange given that his ear has been leaking pus now for 18 years. It causes him severe headaches and at one point he had to leave the room to drain some of the pus with a small ragged piece of gauze, which he kept in his pocket. Supposedly a portion of my money goes toward health care costs and I have not had reason to believe his sponsorship organization illegitimate, but I question whether his health has been a priority and I wonder where all of my money is being funneled. As the translator asked him about his job, he denied the fact that he had worked as a porter, shirking in shame. Then he was asked what he wanted to be when he ‘grew up’. It took him quite some time to respond, but when he did, he lifted his head up and with caution and trepidation he said, ‘I want to be a nurse’. Of course, perhaps some of this shame lies in the fact that this dream will never be realized if he is to continue on his current trajectory. Already he is years behind in school, struggling to pass his classes because of his persistent headaches, balance difficulties and inability to concentrate on his studies. After spending a bit more time on the compound, we headed to his house where a beautiful little girl, Anna was peering through the gate, anticipating our arrival. He relaxed a bit once at home with his family. Their home was actually a bit larger than some I have seen in Gondar but quite small, especially given that it housed ten people. I noticed only a few items hanging on the barren walls as the scent of sandalwood incense burned from a clay dish on the earthen floor. There were only two other kids there with the mother upon my arrival. Supposedly his father and five younger brothers had waited for me in the morning but had to leave to find work in the city. This also seemed a little strange as I assumed that the organization had communicated with them at what time I would arrive. Either way, the family that I met was beautiful and incredibly gracious. The two younger kids were not near as shy. I sat close to the ground, while the mother lifted a small satchel off of a hook nailed into the mud wall. Inside was a large stack of the most recent photos, which I had sent them. They removed the photos from the satchel and laid them all out on the bare floor. I had brought some new photos with me, which were quickly added to the floor collage. After the collage was completed and reminisced over, I handed the mother a large container of Shiro powder from Gondar, gave a Frisbee to the kids and gave Ayenachew a T-shirt and cap from Port Townsend. His mother showered me with kisses and thanked me for all the help that I have been to her family over the years. If only I knew what I had actually done to help. It seems that I have done so little and despite the mother’s gratitude, I questioned whether I had really helped at all. I later found out that her youngest daughter also suffers from the same ear issues and strangely enough Ayenachew is the only child receiving sponsorship. I am not sure why. I was told that the money I give each month also helps the entire family, yet again, I am unsure how. We tossed the Frisbee around briefly in their yard and I asked them if I could get a picture. The mother changed into her nicest dress and Ayenachew all too quickly clothed himself in his new T-shirt and cap, leaving the sticker tag on his hat in his haste. I removed the sticker and stuck it to his forehead where it remained for the photo and perhaps for the remainder of the day.
Unfortunately, the visit was incredibly short. The visit had been planned for approximately one year and I had planned to spend no less than one hour visiting the family. On the contrary, I experienced an ‘in and out’ approach in which I was expected to give the family the gift(s) that I brought for them, ask for a photo and be on my merry way. I found this whole format quite disgusting to say the least and found myself leaving with an immense amount of guilt in the form of stomach sickness. I would have been more than content to stay all day and just play Frisbee with the kids. Already, in the five minutes that I had with them, they were better than me at throwing that dang disc. It took Ayenachew so long to finally warm up just a little to me and then we had to leave. While it was an incredible opportunity to be able to visit Ayenachew and his family, it was also an encounter laced with an array of mixed emotions. I felt anger and confusion at the hosting organization, resentful that they were so eager to leave and of the way that they made me feel at not having brought more money. I gave the mother 300 birr, initially cursing myself that I didn’t have more and yet also questioning the actual benefit of handing out liquid money. I already felt like Santa Claus, coming to bring presents for the family before jetting off to my next good will venture so it was unfair that I was also made to feel guilty about not bringing more money. Unfair and also inappropriate.
While not an altogether positive experience, I will be left with Ayenachew’s radiant smile. In all of the photos that I have of him he is completely stoic, however upon visiting him in the flesh, I found him to have a smile that melts your heart and lights up the entire room with just one small movement of his muscles. It is a smile of both sadness and joy of despair and also of hope. This I will always remember.
Now that I have returned to America, I have made multiple phone calls and have sent a flurry of emails to those physicians I know working in Addis. Dr. Rick Hodes, endearingly known to the people of Ethiopia as “Dr. Rick” has offered to see Ayenachew at his Saturday clinic at Mother Theresa’s where he provides free care, specifically for those suffering from spine abnormalities. Dr. Rick has now seen Ayenachew once at his clinic and I was told that he found him to have significant bilateral holes to his eardrums. He has found an ENT MD in the area willing to see Ayenachew and has offered to provide all of Ayenachew’s follow up visits, and yet I recently heard that Ayenachew has still not shown up for his ENT appointments. I will continue to follow up with the sponsorship organizing, believing that surgical treatment is possible and that help can be found. It is disheartening to know that so many barriers exist, small and large, working to prevent Ayenachew from seeking out this treatment and healing and yet I struggle with knowing how much I should do without any initiative being taken by the recipient. I suppose this is part of finding the age-old line between enabling and empowering. I hope with all of my heart that treatment can be provided for Ayenachew but know that he also must want to be healed.
For more information about “Dr. Rick’s” incredible and inspiring work in Ethiopia, see rickhodes.org and Marilyn Berger’s new book, ‘This is a Soul: the mission of Rick Hodes’. You can also read about ‘Dr. Rick’ in Melissa Fay Greene’s book, ‘There is no me Without You.’
Ayenachew & Sibs
Inside the Royal Enclosure.
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