Gindo Town, Ethiopia, October 26-29

Waliso

We pulled into the narrow back alley behind the Waliso Hotel. From our vantage point, we could see straight into the homes of the locals, who were sitting on the floor, eating injera and w'et.  This hotel was new, by Ethiopian standards, only built a couple of years ago. We clambered off the bus to the familiar chant, "Ferenge, ferenge, ferenge."

When we entered our room, a beetle crawled across the floor in a manner of greeting. I stepped forward without hesitation, responding to his unwelcome greeting with the bottom of my runner. Beetles are normal at this time of year, we were told, because the rainy season has just ended. Lucky for us, I thought, that we weren't visiting during the rainy season! The sun was already setting, and the room was cast in a gloomy green glow. 

The west end of the room had a smell not un-like an outhouse; a door was propped open that led to the bathroom. As the door swung in, I could see the toilet, with no seat or lid, and a drain in the floor.  There was a shower head poking through the reconstructed, mudded and seeping wall. The ceiling over the closet was not finished, and was open to the rafters. Later, we would hear the scurrying sound of... what??

By 8 pm, Lauren had broken out in a rash. By midnight, Ward was visiting the seat-less toilet with increased frequency. 

Gindo Town

Gindo is a rural area of Ethiopia that is gravely affected by lack of water, food, and education, and has a high incidence of disease, such as malaria, tuberculosis, and HIV/AIDS. One could say that they were desperate for a leg up. In May of 2012, six middle-aged, energetic, compassionate individuals began a bike ride across Canada, in a ride called, "Chain Reaction". Along their way, they raised awareness for Canadian Humanitarian, and raised the funds to build an education centre in Gindo. The inspiration for the "Chain Reaction" ride came from Vern Hyde. Vern is volunteering on this expedition, along with us. He was about to see the centre that he and his wife and friends had ridden uncountable miles for. He was steeped with emotion.

The fifty children that are part of the CH program here, were quietly waiting for us to come off the bus and into the gate. We arrived sporting Ray Ban's, Maui Jim's, Nike, Merrel, and Columbia. They sat with missing buttons, tangled hair, white shirts dusted with red earth, plastic shoes, and an odour that could curl the fine hairs of one's nostrils. There was an air of excitement at the Gindo Education Centre as preparations were being made for the official opening ceremony. Indeed, yesterday there was a noisy, rust colored ox tied to the fence; today, not even the rope remained. Instead, there were mounds of cut up meat as the women worked to prepare a celebration meal, in our honour. 

Along with us, the guardians were gracefully flowing in. When they reached forward to shake our hands, they did so with one arm supporting the other at the wrist, and their heads bowed ever-so-slightly. We each marveled at the other. After the ribbon-cutting was complete, we filled the hall to capacity. The program was lengthy as voices in English and Amharic told of the many strengths of the program, as well as the journey to this day, which began over three years ago. We were then entertained by loud, pulsating music together with body gyrating dancing. One could not help but notice the flies that danced and dipped to a rhythm all their own. Much later, I would come to realize that there were also invisible dancers; fleas were jumping from body to body, enjoying the diverse dining.

Faven and Lauren with the child we sponsor - Mebret.

A guardian of the program- a proud grandma.

Gindo is like no other place I have been. The community has an edge to it that I cannot find the words to articulate. The children who live there, particularly those who are not in the CH program are aggressive, rude and misbehaved. I suspect that there is conflict within the community, and I also saw that the children were somewhat desperate - for what? - the abundance symbolized by the white person. They pawed and groped at us, as one who is jailed might reach forward to touch a passerby. They tried valiantly to relieve us of our watches, bracelets and rings; they pinched us on one side, while on the other, a small hand slipped into our pockets; they formed a human wall as we tried to enter our bus and grabbed what they could as we passed through, and in the end, when they were not rewarded, they spit at the backs of our feet. 

Desperation.

On our third day at Gindo, I could not stop the sobs that wracked through my body and choked my words. It was to be a fun day for the children (and us). It was hot, and the air was still. The clouds were aloof - allowing the sun to shine all day. An "incredible race" was prepared (a relay race, with alternating exercises  and running). We all moved to the large field adjacent to the Centre. Lauren and I were to "captain" a team, (one of six), which essentially meant that we were to keep them behind a marked line, and keep them in order within our team. Sounded easy.

As the race progressed and the children all realized that this was a race, the tactics started to change. Small kids were pushed to the back and not allowed to run. Girls were pushed out of the way when their turn came up, and the boys would go instead. After the first round, we paused and tried to remind the children of the rules. However, on my team, things got out of control. I had no authority over these kids, and therefore nothing that Lauren and I tried would make them follow the rules. Girls were being pushed, shoved, hidden and thrown out. It was horrifying. The thing that 'did me in' was when we paused to give the kids a water break. There were six teams of either 7 or 8 kids. There was one white man with water. Chaos ensued. 

They were sent back to their team line-ups and told to wait their turn. However, the kids were line jumping and trying to steal another child's turn. A boy on my team that had been physically aggressive throughout the competition, grabbed a small girl (also on my team), and put her into a head lock and began to hit her, on the top of the head, so that she would step out of line, and allow him to have her water. No one helped me to control this behavior - and we were told ahead of the expedition, that we were not to discipline the kids. I felt helpless. Of course, I yelled at him - and he finally stopped.

We started the last round of the race - and I was physically shaking. Lauren was also quite upset. Our team was unruly and impossible to manage! At the end, I tried to tell the facilitators what had happened - and they were not initially supportive. Ethiopians want competition they told me.. there was no other way.

I was exasperated and upset. I went over and grabbed Ward's hand and pulled him away from the crowd just as the sobs ricocheted out of my body. I was - perhaps - more emotional than I needed to be, it had been a tough three days on many fronts. My outpouring drew a small group of bystanders from the program. Kids stared at me, as if they had never seen a white person cry before. Perhaps they hadn't - as there is a lot of forced smiles and joy-spreading on these expeditions. After many minutes of crying, I felt a tug on my leg. I looked down. Standing at my side, with tears pooling in her eyes was Mebret. Mebret is six-years-old; she is the child that we sponsor in this program. We had met her two days before. I wiped my eyes, and reached my hand out to this pitiful sprite of a girl. She took my hand and smiled. I smiled. We walked around the building, Ward holding one hand, Mebret holding the other - and it was perhaps one of the sweetest moments of my life.

(This was not the experience of every volunteer on that day. All 25 of us were involved in the race, and many had the time of their lives.)

I am not sure what we are doing here. It is hard. It can be sweet. There is so much that I don't understand. We cannot help every child who suffers in Ethiopia--but maybe we can help one.