A summer rite of passage

Yesterday I drove past a little boy with a sign: "Drive-Through Lemonade." Pretty clever, I thought. Especially since he was stationed at one of the very few stop lights in our residential neighborhood. Red lights sure to bring in customers on a hot summer day.

How many of you remember having a lemonade stand? I certainly do. We didn't live on a very busy street, but we caught the attention of a few passers-by; sometimes our customers were dads driving home from work, or neighbors or the mailman. I think of my mom, keeping an eye out for supplies running low, helping us count our change. We maybe made one or two bucks, but hey! It was enough to buy candy, or gum or some other treat. Spending money, earned fair and square. The world of commerce was a snap!

A summer lemonade stand seems to me to be a rite of passage for American youth, and I was thrilled to see that enterprising little boy yesterday. It made me feel like some things never change.

But now, when I wax nostalgic for "the good old days," I can't help but think of our kids in Addis Ababa. They don't have the luxury of selling anything for spare change, for there is nothing to sell. There is no such thing as "spending money," and treats like chewing gum are the farthest thing from their minds.

If they are out on the street, it's serious business. Any money gleaned from passers-by is used to buy dinner. For the whole family. If they're lucky.

In Africa's second-poorest country, food is not provided in the schools. If you are as poor as the kids in the Keteme neighborhood it comes down to this simple choice: you can get an education or you can eat.

Once again, I give thanks for our generous sponsors and donors. Without your help, the kids at Fresh and Green Academy would be out there on the streets begging. Hoping against hope to come home with something for mom to use to feed the family. Your support is saving lives.

Thank you for being a friend.

Summer's Bounty

It's July here in the Midwest. Hot, humid sticky weather that has most city folk complaining. For farmers, it's a paradise: barring any unforeseen destructive storms, 2010 promises to be a banner year. At least in Illinois and our neighboring states.


As I've mentioned in previous posts, I tend to look at life from a more inclusive perspective these days. Hooray for the prairie, bursting at the seams with bountiful blessings. Fresh and green indeed!

I've become a somewhat dedicated locavore. For those unfamiliar with the word, that means I try to eat food that was grown or raised within 200 miles of my house. It's better for the planet (saves on transportation costs), better for our bodies (we are biologically programmed to eat seasonal foods), and better for the small, non-Big Agriculture farmers. Our local Farmer's Market has new goodies each week, right now we're in "berry season" -- Michigan's blueberries, strawberries, blackberries and raspberries are finding their way to our dinner, er, I mean dessert plates in wonderful ways!

In the midst of all this, I find my heart breaking for the farmers and fishermen in the Gulf states. It's not just going to be a rotten year for them, it may be a rotten decade or two. Although Mother Earth has remarkable self-healing properties, She's going to have a tough assignment bouncing back from the BP oil spill. Since eighty-five percent of the seafood we consume in the United States comes from the Gulf region, we are in for some dietary adjustment. Shrimp is a staple in our household. Guess I'm going to have to forgo one of my favorite foods, or pay dearly for it to be imported from someplace else.

But that's my point, or the point of this blog anyway. I have that option. I can fill my larder with other foods, I can adjust to not having a weekly shrimp dinner. For almost 10 percent of Ethiopia's 77 million people, the concept of a larder is unimaginable. With six major droughts in the past two decades, Africa's second-most populated country can't seem to get a break. Many opt to move to Addis Ababa, only to find their situation worse than the village they left in the countryside.

For all 90 students at the Academy, there is no larder to come home to. No Farmer's Market, no high-priced sea food. It's common practice in parts of Ethiopia for mothers to sprinkle gasoline on their children's hands -- the smell quells hunger pangs. For awhile anyway.

And because this is America, we will find some way to take care of our citizens in the Gulf region. They will certainly have to make some life-changing choices, but chances are good they will not starve. Their children won't have to sniff gasoline or go to bed hungry. Government programs, charities, and our unwavering and ever-present volunteerism will help get them through this difficult time.

Ethiopia has virtually no organized in-country mechanism for food distribution to the poor. According to the 2010 Index for Economic Freedom (http://www.heritage.org/index/Country/Ethiopia), corruption is seen as pervasive. Ethiopia ranks 126 out of 179 countries on the Transparency Index, America ranks eighth. What this means in real-life is that much of the money directed toward hunger relief in Ethiopia more often than not gets funneled elsewhere.

Ethiopians get by with help from Non-Governmental Organizations (NGOs). Friends of Fresh and Green is a very small NGO, but through the generosity of our donors, we manage to keep 90 students educated and nourished, and 22 mothers as well.


In giving thanks for this summer of plenitude here in the Midwest, I also have to give thanks for the philanthropic spirit of so many of my friends and neighbors. People are giving what they can to wildlife and wetland rehabilitation in the Gulf, and to so many other worthy causes, including Friends of Fresh and Green. Paying it forward for Mother Earth, sharing the gift of "having more than enough." Bounty brings a smile to my face.

Perspectives

Back injuries are cumulative, or so goes the current medical understanding on the subject. For me, it was a lifetime of picking things up carelessly, not using proper body mechanics, taking my body for granted. So ... it all caught up with me one rainy afternoon in Addis when I slipped on a rock trying to avoid stepping in some puddle of something that was not rainwater.

A herniated disc in my spine. Two of them, actually. It hurt like the devil when I tried to bear weight on my left leg. But ... I got by with the help of all the wonderful people who volunteered to go on the April trip, made it back to the United States with my very own personal flight attendant (grazie, Francesco), and followed up with my doctor. Got some steroid shots, accupuncture and thought I was good to go.

But my body had another plan. Or Mother Nature, or the Great Whomever ... time for me to slow down and contemplate my life, the universe and everything while convalescing from major surgery. So ... here I sit on a Saturday evening, in an air-conditioned rehabilitation hospital, learning to walk all over again.

These last three weeks have been a great and amazing wonder: because God gifted a neurosurgeon with the ability to free my spinal nerves from compression, I will have a regular pain-free life again soon; I have been able to see just how much my friends love me, how much my husband loves me, and that what I always thought was my "same-old, same-0ld" actually makes a difference when I'm not doing it.

I am blessed beyond belief. I have health insurance, I have the means to earn a living from my hospital bed, I have skilled therapists and nurses to help me get better, a comfortable bed, a clean room, excellent food, the list of bounty goes on and on.

Trish told me that Africa would change my life, and although I fully expected it to, I didn't imagine this would be the revelation: it is impossible for me to feel sorry for myself. There are people all over this planet with far more debilitating conditions than mine who are sleeping on the street, without so much as a cardboard box for comfort. People begging on the streets of Addis or Nairobi or Mumbai for just a fraction of what showed up on my dinner tray this evening.

As I sip my bed-time herbal tea, my thoughts turn to the Kumela family. I hope tonight in Addis it is warm, that the roof has stopped leaking and that Fakhadu's legs have begun to strengthen so that he can take full advantage of his crutches. I hope the day is nice tomorrow and that the family has enough for dinner. And I hope, most of all, that I never ever forget how lucky I am to be sitting here tonight, counting my blessings.

Bogale's Story Part Three:

The Most Amazing Day
In Amharic, the word muday means "a tiny container full of little treasures." Muday certainly embodies her name; standing at all of four-and-a-half feet tall, she is a dynamo of energy and light, and brilliant ideas. She planned an outing for the children, one funded through the generosity of the Friends of Fresh and Green. All I can say is, the day was a true miracle, and the fact that I got to witness it is one of the greatest blessings of my life.

Only a handful of the children had ever been in a car, and certainly never a bus. Bus rides, which cost about 13 cents in Addis, are unimaginable luxuries far beyond their means. Imagine, then what it was like for the kids when a giant yellow and green bus showed up to take them on their grand adventure!

Above, the mad dash for their first bus ride!

Yet that was just the first of many surprises Muday had in store for the kids. Our "magic bus" took us to Vera's Wonderland, the Ethiopian version of Disneyland. There was a Ferris wheel, merry-go-rounds, a giant magic carpet slide and various other dizzying delights. The kids' already giant brown eyes got as wide as saucers when they realized that they were going to be allowed on each and every one of these rides in this fairy tale-come-to-life day.

For the volunteers, it was almost overwhelming to share in this experience. Having witnessed the extreme poverty of their home life and then seeing them climb aboard with joyous abandon and giant smiles, well ... we had to keep turning our heads to keep from letting the children see our tears.

But Muday had one more surprise planned for this day of days: ice cream cones! None of the children had ever experienced anything like it. They had never tasted anything that cold, they really had no idea what it was, or if it was edible. And if it was edible, how did one go about eating it?

I'll never forget this: one of the first kids to get a cone, a little boy ... the top fell off and he just kept walking! He didn't know that was "the good part." We had to go get him: "Hey! Come back! You get another one!"

Once they got the hang of it (licking as opposed to biting, and yes, the cone was edible too), confusion turned to amazement and then to giggles and then to delight. Muday, the guiding force behind Fresh and Green, knew that nurturing the students' spirits is just as important as nurturing their bodies and their minds. This most amazing of days will be one they surely will remember for the rest of their lives.

Above, Yabisira (center) with Bogale (right) and Bogale's brother (left).

Adventures in Fine Dining

I've already talked about how wonderful the food is in Ethiopia -- of course, home-made is always better, but the restaurants we went to were first rate. Thought I'd share some random observations about our meals while we were there:

Breakfast at The Green Valley. Every morning we sat on the terrace and watched Addis come alive while we shared our stories and adventures from the night before. As Todd put it: "We've been away from each other for eight hours and we need to catch up!" It was true, too. People had funny dreams, or a funny TV show they saw, or some profound thought that occurred to them overnight. It was always a treat to get together in the morning. Breakfast at The Green Valley Hotel's restaurant was always delicious -- fabulous omelets, wonderful fresh-squeezed tropical juices (papaya and mango, mmmm ....) and of course, their wonderful strong coffee served up with steamed milk. Our waiter, Abaye, seemed to be there from 7 in the morning until 11 at night, every single day. We wondered when he even slept! His English was excellent but his memory was astounding ... he could remember all of our orders without writing them down. An amazing feat considering we tended to be like Meg Ryan in "When Harry Met Sally" with our specificity! What a great guy -- I hope he's still working there when I go back in August, I can't wait to see him again!

Dinner at The Green Valley. One night I elected not to go on an outing with the group and instead stayed and had dinner at the hotel alone. Well, not alone really -- Oprah was on Al-Jazeera on the TV in the dining room. Her guest was Dr. Oz and they were talking about plastic surgery. The juxtapositions were almost too much for my brain to handle ... which was weirder? Oprah with Arabic subtitles or the fact that this was being aired in one of the poorest countries in the world where people go hungry and without even basic medical care, much less plastic surgery. I decided to contemplate this strangeness over a glass of red wine. This is one of my favorite memories of the trip: Abaye brought the cardboard carton of red over to the table and, opening the spigot, carefully poured a taste in the bottom of my glass so I could appreciate the vintage. I swirled it around a bit and told him it was acceptable, and he then filled my wine glass to the brim. I had to actually lean over it and sip a little bit out of it before I could move it because it was so full. This delightful gesture on his part made me appreciate once again, the graciousness that I found everywhere throughout my visit.

Lambs Go Moo. Muday, Anteneh, and Hilu took us to one of their favorite pizzarias. That's right, I said pizzaria. Ethiopia was occupied by the Italians in the 1930s and while the Italians left, their cuisine stayed. Addis Ababa enjoys some of the best Italian food anywhere. So, off we went to Romina's Italian Kitchen.

Unfortunately, that part of the city was experiencing a power outage (common throughout Addis on any given day), so the pizza oven was inoperable. However, anything that could be cooked on a Bunsen burner was available. Ann decided she would have the lamb stew. And Anteneh said "The lamb is very good beef, you will like it." And then a hilarious conversation ensued. We're like: "Lamb is not beef." And Anteneh says "Yes, lamb is beef." And we're thinking he doesn't understand the word. And we're saying: "No. Ba-a-a-a-a Ba-a-a-a." And he's saying: "No. Mo-o-o-o-o Mo-o-o-o-o." Us: "Ba-a-a-a. Not m-o-o-o-o. Anteneh: "No, lamb is mo-o-o-o-o-o."

Okay, so it turns out that in Ethiopia, lamb is not mutton. Lamb is the word for meat from a female cow. Beef is the word for meat from a male cow. So there, Farmer MacDonald! You don't know everything!

The Mothers' Prayer

One of my most profound memories of the trip came at the end of the fourth day. I had been working with the mothers to develop some new jewelry pieces to take back and sell in the United States. The children had finished their third and last meal of the day and it was growing dark. Time to go home. But first, said Muday, we will pray. Eva, a volunteer on her second visit to Fresh and Green explained to me that the mothers give a prayer of thanks every day after working at the school.

We stood in a circle, the mothers, Muday and five volunteers. The majority of the mothers observe orthodox Christianity, and in unison recited their prayer. Amina, the only Moslem, spoke her prayer softly but clearly. Muday, a Bahai'i, said her prayer of thanks. And then, one by one, each of us added something in English: a Catholic prayer, a Jewish prayer, a prayer to the Great Mother Earth. Taking part in this circle of gratitude was one of the greatest gifts I received from my trip to Fresh and Green.

After the class, before the prayer. Amina is in the foreground.

Alamsai's story

Alamsai left the small village of Dinche when she was 16 for a better life in Addis. She was grateful for her luck when she found work as a housekeeper for a wealthy man and his family.

However, being a housekeeper in Addis is not the same as in the United States. In many cases it more closely resembles the life of a black woman in the Deep South before the Civil War: no rights, no freedom, a life lived at the whim of the man who owns you.

For three years he raped her whenever he wanted. And Alamsai became pregnant. When she told him, he fired her.

That was six years ago. When her daughter was born, she kept them both alive by begging on the streets. And the neighborhood grapevine brought them to Fresh and Green, where Muday took them in.

Alamsai works at the Mother's Cooperative and Titthena is a first grader with a beautiful spirit and a smile that is both shy and frequent. Titthena and Bazawit are best friends and so the friendship developed between their mothers.

When Workay became too ill to work, Alamsai took over the task of feeding her. Although the two women are ten years apart in age, they are true sisters and one more example of the miracle that is Fresh and Green.

Workay's story

They don't celebrate Mother's Day in Ethiopia. From my perspective it's hard to imagine any group of mothers anywhere on the planet who deserve more honor and recognition than Muday and the mothers of the students at Fresh and Green. In this and subsequent blogs, I'll try to tell some of their stories. Each and every one is a tale of the human spirit triumphant in the face of unimaginable adversity. Some of these stories may be hard to read, but having talked to these women in person, I can tell you this much: they don't feel sorry for themselves and they don't consider themselves to be remarkable in any way. They're just doing what all mothers do: whatever they can to give their children the best possible chance in life. And every mom and every child everywhere can relate to that.

Workay was born 37 years ago in the village of Gatu, about 260 km from Addis Ababa. She only has use of one of her legs, the other was crippled in childhood, most likely by polio. There's no way to know, of course. Workay can't remember a life where she could walk.

The Great Famine of 1984-1985 would have swept through Gatu when Workay was nine or ten years old. Eight million Ethiopians were affected, one million died. Workay had a daughter named Adist sometime in her middle teens. Although the famine passed, life in Gatu became more and more difficult. Workay came to Addis, the "city of opportunity" when she was 24 years old to earn a living for them both by the only means she felt she could: as a prostitute.

And so she became sick with the illness that, at the time, had only one name: aminmina, the "slim disease." Later on it would come to be known as human immunodeficiency virus, HIV.

Eight years ago she had another daughter, Bazawit. She doesn't know who Bazawit's father was, but she does know that Bazawit does not have HIV. That's one blessing she's thankful for every day.
The other is Fresh and Green. Muday heard about Workay and Bazawit from neighborhood friends and invited them into the Fresh and Green "family." Bazawit started school and is now a thriving first-grader. Workay joined the Mother's Cooperative, and crocheted shawls that were sold at the store. She earned enough to feed herself and afford rent in a small apartment in the neighborhood. Most importantly, her guaranteed nutrition ensured she could receive the antiretroviral (ARV) medication that saved her life.
Unfortunately, Workay's HIV was fairly advanced before she started on the ARVs. During our visit, Muday took us to visit her. When volunteers are in town, Muday will "suggest" a vist when someone is in need. Four months ago, Workay became too ill to continue to work at the Mother's Cooperative. The week before we arrived, Workay went blind.
We walked, thorugh a torrential downpour, about half a mile from the school to Workay's and Bazawit's apartment. It's a very small room painted a cheery lime green, with one electric lightbulb, a bed and a chair. A large poster of the Blessed Mother watches over Workay's bed.
There were eleven of us that day: six volunteers, Muday, Workay and Bazawit, and Workay's friend Alamsai, and her daughter Titthena. Alamsai has been keeping Workay alive, bringing food every day - an almost unimaginable sacrifice in a city where food is so scarce. Such is the sisterhood that exists between the mothers in the cooperative.
Between the six Americans, we had several hundred bir that we were able to give Workay. One hundred bir is around seven dollars. And yet, it was enough to buy food for the next several months.
Workay shed tears of joy. I imagine that if they did have a Mother's Day in Ethiopia, here are some of the things she would be thankful for: that her daughter Bazawit would continue to eat and get an education at Fresh and Green and that Adist could continue to go to school (she is now in college, attending Addis Ababa University). All she wants is to give them a life that is better than the one she had.
And there is some good news: vision has returned to one of her eyes. Although she is bed-ridden, she no longer has to work as a prostitute. And Alamsai has money to bring her food, at least until we return in August. Alamsai is a remarkable woman. I'll tell her story next.

Keeping up with the Kalekidans

Like Jennifer in the 1970s, Heather in the 80s and Emily in the 90s, each decade in the U.S. had its favorite baby girl names. It's no different in Ethiopia. Of Fresh and Green's approximately 45 female students, six are named Kalekidan.

This was pointed out to me by Kalekidan Feleke. One afternoon when I called her name, six little girls showed up. Miss Feleke excitedly pointed above each one's head saying: "Kalekidan, Kalekidan, Kalekidan, Kalekidan, Kalekidan," then pointing to herself saying: "KalEEEEki-DAN!"

I love the name. It kind of rolls off the tongue with an almost musical quality. Meet my Kalekidans.

From left to right, Kalekidan Hmareham, Kalekidan Abebaw, Kalekidan Gatinet, Kalekidan Derega, Kalekidan Debash, Kalekidan Feleke

Pattycake Pattycake

Baker's man, bake me a cake as fast as you can. Want to see the Ethiopian version? It's much faster and can be played one-to-one or, as the kids prefer, in a giant circle. Like all kids everywhere, they could play it all day. They'd even let us sit in and goof it up (which we inevitably did much to their delight). They never miss a beat. And kids will join and leave the circle throughout the game, picking up on the rhythm instantly.

Here's a short clip of four girls playing in the schoolyard. In the upper right corner is Kalekidan Feleke. She appears in a lot of the videos because she loves the camera (and like any true star, the camera loves her!) Her mom braids her hair in cornrows that start at the front and back of her head, meeting at the crown in a spray of braids that remind me of sunshine.

Enjoy!

It's about time

Time is more fluid in Ethiopia. True, they use the standard GMT clock for like, airplane departures and such, but the vast majority of the country tells time like this: the day starts when the sun comes up. Because they are so close to the equator, they don't have a lot of variation between sunrise and sunset. It pretty much happens at 6 am and 6 pm every day.

So, 6 am becomes midnight. 7 am is 1 am. 8 am is 2 am, etc. Therefore, you eat breakfast at 2 or 3 am, have lunch around 6 am, and afternoon coffee around 9 am. You eat dinner at noon, and go to bed at 4 or 5 pm.

The guide books warn you to check with someone if they are giving you an Ethiopian time or a Roman time. Wish I had paid attention to that. I made an appointment to meet someone at the school at 10 am. When he didn't show, I went on with my day and didn't worry too much about it. At about 5 pm, Muday got a phone call from my friend. He was a the school waiting for me. Yep, you got it, he was on Ethiopian time.

Here's another interesting tidbit: the Ethiopian calendar has 13 months. Twelve months of 30 days and one month of five days (six in a Leap Year). So ... over the centuries, our two calendars have drifted apart. In Ethiopia, it's the year 2002. Meaning that if you really want to time travel, Addis is your kind of town!

Erkel and A Hope

We went to A-Hope, an orphanage for HIV-positive children in Addis Ababa, with no other goal than wanting to share some hugs with the kids. I never expected to meet a comedian.

This little guy, being held by the Amazing Eva, was in the infants and toddlers room. He saw me come up to him with my glasses on top of my head. Immediately he reached for them and put them on top of his own little bald head and laughed right in my face! I couldn't believe it, it was so unexpected and hilarious. Then he put them on his face, looking all about the room to see who noticed. He looked just like Erkel, that little kid on the old TV show "Family Matters."

A-Hope (http://www.ahopeforchildren.org/) was founded ten years ago to provide a home and a means for adoption for some of the eleven million children orphaned by HIV/AIDS in Ethiopia. It is often the only refuge from a life spent begging on the streets. At A-Hope, the kids get an education, their own bed, good nutrition and most importantly, the anti-retroviral medication (ARVs) needed to save their lives.

ARVs are free in Ethiopia now, thanks in large part to legislation passed in the US in 2005, and through generous donors like Bill Gates. But patients cannot receive the medication unless it can be shown they are also getting good nutrition.

Welcome Everybody, How Are You?

I need to learn some Amharic. Either that or get video editing capability on my camera!

I think this is a mixture of English and Amharic. Either way, it's beautiful. Enjoy!

Tag, you're it!

This is an Ethiopian version of tag. We saw it played several ways, usually one or more kids run around the inside of the circle, then they tag someone and then they run outside the circle until they "catch" the other person (usually by throwing their sweater at them). It was unique. Even though we heard the chant about a million times, we never could repeat it. But our clapping along seemed to be sufficient. And yes, we did get tagged - wish I had video of us running around the outside of the circle. It's rocky ground at 8500 feet elevation so ... to be kind I'll just say the kids didn't have that much of a challenge catching us!

P.S. Check out Kalekidan Feleke in the lower third of the video. Watch her turn and smile at the camera. What a beauty! By the way, please ignore the goofy ending, I don't have editing capability on this computer!

The Coffee Ceremony

There are a lot of great things about Ethiopia, but probably one of the best things is the food. Most meals are eaten without utensils. If you've ever been to an Ethiopian restaurant, you know that they use pieces of "injeera," a sort of spongy tortilla, to scoop up their food, which is often various forms of stew made with lentils, rice and meat. And spices! It's yummy! They're quite proficient at using injeera, but they know we aren't, so they usually provided us with spoons so we could at least get the food in our mouths without dropping it.
One of the coolest things is the "coffee ceremony" that accompanies the main meal of the day. Ethiopians believe they invented coffee, certainly they grow some of the best on the planet. But the way they prepare and serve it is really unique. First there is the hand-washing ceremony: someone goes around with a pitcher and basin and you wash your hands. Then the preparer lights a charcoal fire in a little brazier and the raw coffee beans are roasted and taken around in a little pan for you to appreciate. You fan the aroma toward your nose and smile. Next the coffee beans are ground while the water is set to boiling on the brazier. During all this, the meal starts, and you are served injeera and various stews and other dishes while you chat about the day's events. Then, boiling water is poured over the grounds and the resulting coffee is better than any espresso you have ever tasted! They pour it in a demi-tasse cup over sugar and give you a little spoon.
It is an honor to be invited to a coffee ceremony. There are three rounds of coffee served. Each cup has a special meaning. The third cup is the "blessing cup," meaning a special blessing is bestowed upon you when you drink it.