Meet Muday Mitiku

In Amharic, the word "muday" means a tiny container full of treasures. Muday certainly embodies her name. Standing at all of four-and-a-half feet tall, she is a dynamo of energy and light. Whether she is running around the school grounds or leading us to one of the mother's homes, it is difficult to keep up with her. She runs as if there is no time to waste and not enough hours in the day. The women, children and families of Kotebe could not have a better, or more devoted advocate, for truly she is working miracles: feeding and educating 111 children age three to third grade; running a cooperative for the mothers so that they can earn funds and become financially independent; teaching classes in hygiene and child-raising; and always, always looking for ways to better the lives of those around her. All this while caring for her six-month old daughter Shanti, her four-year-old daughter, Leah, her adopted son Yabsira and her wonderful and supportive husband, Anteneh (at right).

Anteneh is a surveyor. Together with Muday's income as an elementary school principal, they probably could afford to live in one of the middle-class neighborhoods of Addis Ababa. But they choose to live in Kotebe, on the grounds of the school in a two-room house with their bathroom accessible around the corner. (In fact, until last year the bathroom did not have running water; it was simply a hole in the ground. Thanks to some generous donations, it now has a full toilet, sink, bathtub and shower.)

Here is a picture of Muday and Anteneh's house. Looks can be deceiving: the door on the side of their building is the front entrance, and the door to the right of the yellow flower is the bathroom and also accesses separate space for a bedroom for Yabsira and some additional storage space. Their actual square footage on the inside of Muday's house is approximately ten feet by twenty feet for both rooms, and although it is quite nice, it would be considered impossibly small by most Americans.

Muday wants everyone to know that improving the lives of the people of Kotebe is not just a hobby, a passing fancy, or a part-time job. By living on the grounds of the school, Muday is showing her deep commitment to her community. A community she is lifting up out of hunger and poverty. She is truly one of the most inspirational people I have ever met.

This Thing Called Hope

The first time I saw the moms at work in the Mothers' Cooperative, they were sitting in a semi-circle in the courtyard of the school. Wearing traditional garb, they were swathed in headscarves and long skirts. Each had a project, a necklace, earrings, or some jewelry item that they were working on. Some smiled at us, the American volunteers, but most were engrossed in their work, while keeping an eye on their children who were at recess. Of course, once we walked in, it was pandemonium for the kids -- they ran to greet us like long-lost friends.

While I watched the moms talking softly among themselves with their solemn, lined faces, I imagined all of them to be in their late 30s. Looks can be deceiving: most of them are in their 20s and early 30s, which is middle-aged in Ethiopia. Life expectancy is only 45.

As the week progressed, I learned some of their stories: most grew up in small villages. In the 1980s, when most of them were children, it was a time of great famine in Ethiopia. And so, as soon as they got into their teens, they moved to Addis Ababa, thinking it would be the land of opportunity. But there was no work, nor food, to be found. Most of them turned to prostitution as they only way of staying alive. And most got pregnant, and most got HIV.

That is one common thread that runs through their lives. But the other commonality is this: Through Fresh and Green they have been given back their dignity. Through the jewelry and craft sales, they are able to afford food for themselves and their children. Most importantly, the meals they are now able to provide qualify them to receive the life-saving anti-retroviral drugs that have turned AIDS from a fatal to a manageable disease. Muday holds weekly classes in health and hygiene and they have learned how to keep themselves and their families healthy and strong. They have formed a sisterhood of trust and friendship in a city where life can be very unforgiving. In short, they are thriving.

Fresh and Green seems to me to be a magical place. Through Muday's vision, the entire neighborhood of Keteme has been transformed. With your help, not only the students, but their mothers have been given this one invaluable thing called hope.

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!