The Transition Artist

Today was another whirlwind adventure of trying new things and meeting incredible people. If there’s one thing I took away from the past two days, it’s the knowledge that I couldn’t be happier to have come on this trip with my African Leadership crew. The people I’ve met here as a result of joining the team have been an assortment of some of the most wonderfully hospitable, interesting, and kind people I’ve ever encountered.

I started my day around 9am, after a much needed night of uninterrupted and restful sleep (I was really excited that my jet lag didn’t keep me from sleeping), and decided that I wouldn’t allow myself to go downstairs until I learned at least two words in Amharic. I tried really hard to memorize some phrases.. But all I ended up learning how to say was hello (pronounced seh-lahm – there’s no real English spelling), thank you (pronounced ahm-say-na-galow), and coffee (important because I adore it- pronounced boo-nuh). Those three words ended up being perfect, though, because I was able to stroll on down to breakfast and use them immediately to greet the staff, order a coffee, and thank them when it arrived. Breakfast was a fun little mishmash of things, including everything from watermelon to asparagus frittata to fish tempura. I’m not complaining.

After breakfast, the team met in the lobby to go to Besa International church. It’s technically non-denominational/Christian, but was an interesting blend of the classic American Christian church service and Ethiopian societal norms. We sang songs I’ve heard in church forever, like “How Great Is Our God,” “Our God Is Greater,” and one about “sending your spirit down” that I forgot the name of, but what struck me as funny about this part is the fact that the songs each went on for an extra..oh.. Say ten minutes? The worship team consisted of about 6 different singers (the African version of Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes, if you ask me), a flute player, sax man, piano player, and drummer (who all seemed to be playing different variations of the same song, and occasionally taking off on a solo). I’m not entirely sure if the whole thing was rehearsed this way, but the song would play through, and then one of the two lead singers would encourage the audience to open their hearts, as the song kept faintly playing in the background. Then, suddenly, one of the singers would ask the audience to repeat a key phrase from the song, and as the audience repeated it the singing would start again, and then we wound up singing the chorus or refrain over and over again with different harmonies and instrumental arrangements each time. It was honestly pretty amusing.

After the 30 minute singing of the three songs, one of the worship leaders got the audience kind of pumped up on “the lies of satan,” during which he asked people to scream, “satan is a lie!” And then followed with, “ignorance is a lie, depression is a lie, sin is a lie, sickness is a lie!” Etc, until everyone was pretty riled up on the lies, and then we sang a little more, just doing some “hallelujah” vocal arrangements. Afterwards someone started making announcements, so we Americans, understanding that that usually meant the end, looked around and checked our watches, realizing it had already been about 50 minutes and started shrugging at each other like, “well I guess that’s it then!” Until we realized that this was actually just the warm-up and the preacher came up to actually read the Bible and give a sermon. He hopped around between Hebrews and the story of Judah, giving an amusing take on how someone accidentally gets his daughter-in-law pregnant, using the end of the story when everyone’s ready to stone her to illustrate the correlation between us accusing others of the very things we do wrong. During his sermon, all of a sudden there was this extremely loud chirping sound, that sounded like a cross between a large bird and a balloon loosing air through a tiny hole, and I learned about the “ellilta.” Ellilta is actually the name of our “women at risk/economic freedom” project partner, which I learned more about later, and it’s an Ethiopian term for a sound of joy and respect for salvation and worship. Apparently it’s quite common here, and we heard it a few more times during the service (picture the way people sometimes yell “AMEN” to agree with the pastors during exciting sermons).

Later in the afternoon, Julia (another Belmont student here for a social enterprise project with Ellilta), Cate (a Belmont professor here for the project), Emily, and I joined our friend Cherry (who is the director of women at risk aka Ellilta) for a little tour outside the city. Cherry took us up a mountain on the outskirts of Addis where the scenery turned dramatically different. The buildings and shops fell away to reveal a dirt road lined with eucalyptus trees and patches of field covered in little shacks and huts, with children running up and down chasing each other and our car in turn. The road led us up to the first Ethiopian Orthodox Church and the homes of the monks and nuns who worship there now, sidling up to the old king and queen’s quarters, which are now a museum. The most adorable, sweet man took us on a tour through the church museum and then the old palace, telling us in his accented English about its history as though he had been there. I was so awestruck all I knew how to respond was, “that’s so awesome,” “wow,” and “cool,” like I had no other vocabulary all of a sudden.

After the tour we came back down the mountain and observed the social structure of the surrounding areas. I knew everything was different, and I’ve seen plenty of pictures, but visiting these places myself has been incredibly eye-opening. Even more eye-opening was going to dinner with Cherry and hearing the story of her ministry. Cherry is, to begin with, one of the most phenomenal people I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. I can’t even come close to telling her story the way I heard it, but she has lived an amazing life and loved in the most beautiful way.

Cherry was one of 10,000 people out of 2 million who was chosen to attend university in Ethiopia. She had a hard time finding a job, but eventually landed work in a local missions program. After the communist government fell, she had one of her first experiences out past when curfew had normally been imposed and saw prostitution in plain view all around her. The images of young girls selling themselves stuck with her, and her heart eventually led a friend and her to take to the streets and try to befriend at least one girl there, simply to be a friend and sort of sister to her. To make a long story short, Cherry’s visits with her friend to the ladies on the street, whom they began to befriend and return to visit each week with tea and cookies, turned into relationships and sharing sessions. One day they learned that one of the girl’s houses (really a small shack) had burned down. The two friends asked around and found resources to give the girl a new home (of course with humble beginnings), and found her right as she had decided she wanted to leave prostitution. She saw their gifts as God’s answer to her prayer, and told them, “I’m leaving prostitution, what do you have for me to do?”

Cherry and her friend panicked. They had nothing to offer, but of course wanted to help. They got her started learning how to clean houses, and began to realize how important a ministry like this might be. They partnered with the missions organization Cherry worked with (who said that, as part of the contract, they’d eventually have to become a separate organization – a blessing in disguise), and started women at risk. The program has grown exponentially since it’s humble beginnings, and now offers rehabilitation and job training in multiple areas, as well as an option for attending university, to women who were previously in prostitution. There have been about 1,000 graduates from the program and Cherry knows each by name, as the program is incredibly relationally based.

Cherry told this story over a traditional Ethiopian dinner in the red light district, and as we all sat there eating this sponge-y, pita-like bread, dipping it in sauces with lamb, chickpeas, and spinach, I felt this indescribable sense of overwhelming emotion. Here I was, licking sauce off my fingers in another country, sitting across the table from one of the most incredible women I’ve ever met, (quite literally breaking bread with her), as the women she described strolled right past us on the street outside. The food was so good I could’ve eaten mountains of it, but I dropped my hand midway to my mouth as I was told that there were 150,000 more of the girls I saw walking around outside. 150,000 prostitutes in Addis alone. I couldn’t believe it.

After dinner we drove down the streets Cherry’s lay counselors still drive down, looking at the same girls they befriend and bring into their program. I was in both shock and horror as I saw these girls who couldn’t be any older than I am, and some much younger, loitering on street corners in tight, short clothing, waiting for someone to pull up to do business. The different stories of personal experiences Cherry’s had with these girls replayed themselves in my brain, and I sat looking out the car window dumbfounded.

I’m going to bed tonight with the most complicated mix of emotions, feeling blessed, fortunate, happy, sad, and horrified all at the same time. I look back on the day, recalling that the sweet man who gave us a tour of the church told us that the colors of the Ethiopian flag represent green land (green), peace (yellow), and a same blood, tight community (red), and understand entirely how those colors are represented, but feel sickened at the same time knowing that six floors below me, teenage girls are wandering the streets waiting for someone to appraise them like a piece of meat and pay as little as 12 cents to use them. In two days, Ethiopia has opened my eyes and brought me to a much bigger picture of the world than I ever saw before. I am encouraged that I work with an organization that addresses the needs this big world has, and not disheartened that things are still far from perfect. It just looks like God still has a lot of work to do. All I know is I’m here to help.