I write this from one of my favorite coffee shops here in
Addis. The front window is all glass and I always take my seat in the center,
facing outside. My surroundings are quite symbolic of this whole journey, and not to get
too cheesy but this is why…in front of me is a taxi stop, sort of a staple for
Addis Ababa. All types of people flood into these blue mini buses, heading to
destinations all over the city. Homeless mothers stand at the doors begging for
food, people push and shove for the last seat, and then the rest of the people
go along their days, selling fruit, making tea, or sitting on a rock looking
like a perfectly posed picture. This is the life I have lived for the past 8
months, of course I have not fully engaged in a typical Ethiopian lifestyle, but
there have been sacrifices and choices made that simply could not be made in
the US because they are not available. And then the second half of this picture
is what lies behind me, a big tower full of clothing shops and boutiques, a
representation of the land I left. This tower, named Gola Gul stands out like a
sore thumb, it is the white elephant of Hyahulet the town it is located in. It
doesn’t blend, and it never will because what surrounds it is what I described
above. Sometimes I feel like Gola Gul walking around the streets of Addis,
desperately wanting people to know that I am not just here for 2 weeks to build
a house but that I have tried my best to establish a life here…with every shout
of “ferengi” (white person) my hopes are slowly pushed down. Even if I lived
here for years and years, this is something that would still be shouted and no
matter what there is no way I could really ever look like my life is here, at
least to the outsiders…
As I close in on only three weeks left this is what my mind
wonders off to…the reality that my life has become Addis with bits of America
infused into it. I have this weird, paradoxical peace about leaving. I knew
from the get go I wouldn’t be able to live my life here forever, and to be
completely honest without sounding like this experience was bad, (because it
was everything BUT bad) I don’t want to. Those infused parts seem to be tugging
my heart more and more with every day that passes, and I truly long for home in
a way that is hard to describe. If you have ever left home, to a foreign
country, for a long period of time, by yourself, maybe you can identify with
what I am saying...
It is so strange how these 8 months went
by so quickly; I can’t think to another 8-month stretch of my life that has
gone by so frighteningly fast. I think of the cliché “time goes by when you’re
having fun” and that describes this so accurately. There have been challenging
times but far more have been moments where I feel like I am in a dream…holding
Isaac, hearing kids read out loud in ENGLISH for the first time, listening to the testimonies of women
once bound to prostitution, now free in Christ…I could go on and on…Glorious
moments everyday and this has been MY LIFE for 8 months straight!!! That is an
incredible blessing.
I hope this doesn’t seem too flip flop ish, aka: “she’s happy
to come home, but she just said these 8 months have been the best…blah blah
blah” I will miss these people and this country with emotions I probably have
never felt before, but to be home, surrounded by “my people” will be another
incredible blessing that I am definitely looking forward to.
Love love love from one super cool coffee shop, in the
middle of Addis,
Becca
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