Category Archives: Travel

Ethiopia: Magic Village

My friend and driver, Danny, invites me to join him on a visit to his home village and I jump at the chance to go.  On Sunday, he arrives clad in bermuda shorts, t-shirt and his shades and off we go, driving through possibly the most beautiful landscape on Earth. Rolling hills give way to massive cliffs and rocky pointed mountain tops with wind blown trees dotting the fields like staccatos in a pulsating Led Zeppelin song. Yes, Led Zeppelin. Deep. Dark. Mysterious. Commanding.

We arrive in his village, Gulett, a few hours away, and my mind is so far elsewhere. How can I leave this enchanting land? Maybe I should strop right now and turn back. What if at some point I won’t be able to?

We enter his compound and are greeted by his 87 year old “Mama”, his great grandmother, followed by “Imiyea”, his grandmother who raised him after his mother died when he was ten years old. It is love at first sight. Words are not needed to hold someone’s face, look deeply into their eyes, your own eyes filled to the brim with tears, and communicate feelings of joy for this chance meeting.

We visit for awhile, eat some gonfo, they teach me how to catch a goat, and I try to say something each time Mama tells me to “just say something”.  I wish I knew more Amharic, but she settles for the few words I know. We decide to take a walk before dinner and Danny leads the way over unpaved roads filled with large rocks, gently watching my stance so he can quickly right my fall should that begin to occur.

We come to an area that looks like paradise decided to drop some magic. I find out that Danny’s friends decided to pool their resources about three years ago, taking a stretch of incredibly unattractive land and making it into a lovely garden with pathways lined with beautiful plants and flowers. Small tables are set up so people can enjoy coffee (best I have had in Ethiopia so far!) and conversation.

They show me one structure that is not yet complete and tell me they are building a “Couple’s House”.  Apparently, if two people spend time together and after much dialog decide to culminate their relationship, they can enter the Couple House. If they do enter this house, marriage plans will follow.

As I sit there marveling at the storybook feel to the day so far, a small boy around the age of seven comes up to our table and begins to dance the moon walk and many other dance moves that Michael Jackson so flawlessly perfected.  I clap my hands, excitement building as his moves get more complicated. Dear Mother Sky…am I in heaven?

One of Danny’s friends starts to move his hands wildly in front of Fetena’s face and I realize this little boy is deaf. How can he feel the rhythm to be able to dance like this? I ask where the men learned sign language and my question is met with a shy smile. It is “just natural sign language”, they relay to me. And they go on to talk with Fetena about trips to Addis, how his mother might feel, what they need him to do, how they feel.  I try to catch a glimpse of a gesture I can understand and it is impossible. I fall in love with both of them. Like real love, the kind that makes you feel a bit twisted inside, and safe, like there is no end of it in sight. Ever.

I capture Fetena’s dance on video, and he commands the camera with intensity. My heart stretches to the moon, and I look up to see everyone watching my joy. I cry. I cry for Danny’s life without a mother.  I cry for this little boy who has not let his deafness keep him from feeling and expressing rhythm. I cry because this marvelous little boy is very poor and has to beg others for food. I cry for anyone who has never felt love like this. I cry because I feel so deeply.

Danny tells me it is time to walk a bit more, and a short way down the road I see a woman looking out of her window, head perched comfortably as though she spends much time watching the activities surrounding her house on a daily basis. Danny relays to me that indeed she is there all day, and she is blind.  Yet she looks like she is watching every move passing by.

I call this village “Magic Village” and I truly feel like I have dropped into my childhood’s most desirable dream village. And oh how I love it. When Mama says she will adopt me into her family, I feel a sense of peace rush over me, knowing I will never leave this village.

 

Ethiopia: A Visual Carnival

Hoo boy. I have traveled to Africa so many times now, and I forget about that “third day” of acclimation.  How could I forget?

The two days of flights don’t bother me. Gives me time to think. And once I circle the Bole airport from above, I get a surge of energy no matter how little I have slept on the planes. It’s ETHIOPIA!

Plane touches down, and I don’t mind that my friend Daniy is not there to fetch me. How could he possibly know that I finagled a seat near the front so I could flee downstairs to the Visa room and not have to wait in the hours long line? Hey. I am getting this stuff DOWN!

I negotiate a taxi, pay way too much because my Amharic is a dead giveaway that I am trying too hard and I am still as firenji as a firenji comes. I search for familiar words I learned last year, wanting to say yikirta (excuse me) but I say kiriftu instead, which is the name of a hotel in BahirDar. So I watch with fascination, and in silence, the scurrying of life as it is in Addis Abba.

It’s one of my favorite visual carnivals.

Busy-ness at its most fevered pitched, everyone has a place to go. Fast and furious. Chances are they are only going a few streets away but the way chaos meets mayhem here, one has to fight their way through roadways, avoiding buses, motorcycles, goats and an occasional posse of boys having fun. Crossing the road is like swimming in the deep blue sea, through multiple schools of fish going the opposite direction.  I literally put my hands together and try to imagine what it is like for a fish to get from A to B in the sea at rush hour. And where is that fish going anyway?

So upon touchdown, my senses are peaked and I sniff the familiar smells in the air while drinking in as much as I can within the shortest amount of time. Look at THAT! Did you see what he was carrying? Wow…they are playing a game over there…looks fun. WAIT! That’s a cow ahead!

Bump, bump…roads are conducive to new dance moves. Music is everywhere. I try to feel the beats of the deeply pitted roads match the Ethiopian sultry sounds coming from the scratchy CD player.

One word: fun.

So, I don’t sleep. I want to hear the priests chanting and the birds calling out in the wee hours of the morning. Hell, I am not tired at all! Let the adrenaline work its magic on me. Holy moly, I am invincible!

And then…WHAM. Around the third day it all catches up on me. I lose things. I forget where I wrote down important information. I mistakenly eat a mouse turd in my eggs. I can’t figure out how to turn on the video of my camera even though I have done it a million times. And, I see vast suffering and it starts to really sink in how difficult life can be here.

Communication is at bay, slow at its very best if at all, and I start to fall down. Tears and worse: I just sit and stare, nothing coming to mind. Nothing. I am not invincible, I am close to being crazy.

I realize I am in the culture impact zone, and I try to just let it pass. I pop onto the sedated internet and alas, a friend is available to chat. Geesch how she gets the brunt of it all. Where is the $%^# button I need to push? HELP ME! Look at what I saw today. I need help with capturing sound, and where the *$#%^# did I put that manual? I can’t fathom it all.

And then, sleep comes with a heavy thump and I wake up as though it is the best day of my life.

My first thought: I want to go ride the merry-go-round.

Ethiopia: Grace + Empowerment

We have all suffered to varying degrees. A lost relationship, death of a loved one, a missed chance. This summer has been especially difficult for several of my friends and also within our family due to various losses, to the point where I adopted a much practiced mantra: our happiness is in direct relation to how well we can grieve.

Grief comes in many forms, and I marvel at how often we try to push it aside and “get over it”, whatever the loss is. Lately, there has been so much of it in my life, I decided to try a different twist and embrace it. Learn from it. And I found that I am not very good at keeping that philosophy front and center.

I arrived at the Hamlin Fistula Hospital yesterday and within seconds was surrounded by women who suffer perhaps the most heinous condition a human being can endure. Fistula is not only physically debilitating, the effects are psychologically and socially devastating as well. And even if a woman finds her way to this miraculous hospital by the river, she still faces her return to her village where she often finds additional difficulties, and even a recurrence of fistula if she does not follow what she has learned while being cared for.

Yet all I see here on these grounds are beautiful women, with easy smiles, loving temperaments and deeply moving eye contact. They have felt the depths of pain that is unfathomable, only to reflect outward a generosity of spirit that is rarely encountered. It is as if their ability to suffer silently has instilled within them an ethereal aptitude to connect to humanity, instantly, at our most vulnerable level.

I am honored to be in their presence.

And as each women engages with profoundly perceptive eyes, I feel like a child, inexperienced, fumbling, uninitiated. They seem to know this, accepting this ferenji who lives such an easy life, and they take me into their graces with a tender hand, as if they know how easily I can break. These women are strong beyond imagination.

The Hamlin Fistula Hospital’s focus is not only to repair fistula, but they have built a comprehensive program that helps these women become empowered through prevention education and outreach, psychological counseling and community building. I spent the day with the patients, and followed one young woman as she showed me her daily activities.  I will share Asnaku’s experiences in the upcoming blog posts.

For now, here are some of the women who helped me deepen my understanding of grace.

Ethiopia: Extension of Ourselves

I have often tried to explain why the Ethiopian culture has such an effect on me. And words never seem to quite fit how I feel.

Something happens in this country that the structure of dialog cannot tame. A human connection at its most intimate and deepest form breaks down, bit by bit, my poised self and I find my heart beating a bit more excitedly at various turns. Grace, even under extreme pressure of the difficulties of life here, continues to be the base of existence. And I am seen. Not by what I have or how I look or how old I am or what kind of body I have, but I am viewed within a richer lens: my character is sought by those I meet.

As I struggled with laptop internet connection issues this afternoon, I experienced an example of what I am trying to articulate here. A soft spoken man at one of the many technical shanty shops was able to fix my problems after spending time with my laptop and CDMA communication device. When I asked what I needed to pay him for his services, he refused payment, citing that the problem was not difficult for him, he had the knowledge to be able to fix it, so therefore the right thing to do is share his knowledge with someone in need. He did not say this with a hint of manipulation. He eyes expressed truth and sincerity.

Life is hard in Addis Ababa. Shop keepers need every cent they can obtain, and there is extreme competition from other shops, all vying for the infrequent paying customer. I was astonished at this man’s generosity, and insisted that I pay him something for all of the time he spent on resolving my problem. I gave him 50 birr (approximately $3.00) and he seemed just as baffled toward me. He then relayed in Amharic to my friend Danny that he wished he could show me that the Ethiopian culture is not about repayment: it is more about extending to one another. His question: “Why does she think money has to be involved?”

I left with an uplifted spirit, once again being taught how to engage on a deeper human level.

Our lives in the US have been reduced to such transactional exchanges. I will do this for you, because you do this for me. I will pay you to help. I will trade something for what you have. And all too often, I will take what you have.

I pondered this all the way back to my hotel room and I had to think: What if we all started to live less via transactions and more by extending our hand, with no expectation from the receiver? What if our driving force was less about need and greed, and more about seeking ways to extend to others we engage with? I am not saying we should forgo getting a fair wage in exchange for our skills. But what if that was not what drove us in our interactions?

This extension of ourselves, a sincere and clear extension, appears to be the doorway to the ever elusive unrequited love for one another. And how might that feel, if we loved and never expected anything in return?

Many people in Ethiopia have very little in terms of possessions and housing and food choices. But they are stunningly rich in character.

 

Galebo Gambro helps women learn to read and write as part of Mercy Corps’ PROSPER program.

Ethiopia: Maternal Mortality

I took my first trip to Africa and Madagascar when my three children were in preschool. I set off to bring back images so they could see how children live in developing countries.

Fast forward fifteen years, and this time next week I will be working with the Hamlin Fistula Hospital in Ethiopia to document the work they do to heal and also prevent a devastating maternal condition that occurs due to prolonged labor.

Had I been born an Ethiopian woman living in a rural area, chances are strong that I would have died during the birth of my first child. Ben was too large to fit through my pelvis, and I had an emergency C-section to halt his distress and enable me to give birth to him.

When I look at my three grown children, Ben, Aaron and Brynn, the love I feel overflows into an insatiable desire to help these suffering mothers in Ethiopia.

Ethiopia: Hamlin College of Midwives

Join me as I travel to Addis Ababa, Ethiopia to meet some of the world’s bravest women as they support each other by reducing infant and maternal mortality and the occurrence of the physically and emotionally devastating condition of fistula.

It is a great honor to be asked to visit the Hamlin College of Midwives to capture the essence of their 2011 graduation ceremony. On October 15, 2011, the Hamlin Fistula College of Midwives will graduate a second class of trained midwives. After the ceremony, these newly trained women will return to their rural villages to care for new mothers and assist extremely difficult deliveries.

Every day, 1,000 women and 8,000 babies die due to complications from pregnancy or childbirth. And for each maternal death, at least 20 additional women suffer devastating injuries related to their simple desire to produce a family to help work the fields to sustain their food source.  These World Health Organization statistics are sobering, especially when contrasted with the kind of care that is received elsewhere in the world.

The Hamlin College of Midwives is responding to this crisis by training local rural women much needed midwifery skills and supporting them as they set up services in their rural home villages.

Come along as we celebrate these midwives and the mothers of Ethiopia!  I will be documenting this momentous occasion, as well as other aspects of the beautiful and innovative Ethiopian culture. I will also be writing guest blog entries on Phil Borges’ Stirring the Fire website.

We are hoping that a collective cheer from around the world will be heard as these Ethiopian women extend one of the most loving gestures to one another: helping a mother deliver the life that grew inside of her.

Each midwife has been able to be trained without having to pay fees, which they could never afford. Your help is critical in making this possible. Donations for the midwife college are being accepted now at the Hamlin Fistula USA website.

For Dr. Catherine Hamlin’s story, read about her book here.

1859 Magazine: Across Oregon + Back Again

Seaside to Amity to Burns to Frenchglen to Maupin and back home to Portland….but now I have the backroads travel itch that will not subside. So, off again I go this weekend back down to Frenchglen where I will further develop a story about a twelve year old cowboy.

I absolutely loved this assignment! I met so many interesting people, all with a spark in their spirits. Can’t wait to get back out there.

Here are a few cell phone photos from the five day shoot. See the full portfolio spread in the Summer 2011 issue of 1859 Magazine!

Assignment: Crossing Oregon

Dusting off my cowboy boots, firing up the van, ready to hit the road. I will be crossing the state of Oregon from one corner to the other all in one road trip starting today to document our astonishing state’s diversity. Portraits, nuances, landscapes and honky-tonk places.

This trip: from NW to SE

Suggestions for stops along the way are appreciated! Come out and wave at us as we roll through various towns.

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