Mercy Children

mer·cy /ˈmɜrsi/ Pronunciation Key - Show Spelled Pronunciation[mur-see] Pronunciation Key - Show IPA Pronunciation –noun, plural -cies for 4, 5.

1.	compassionate or kindly forbearance shown toward an offender, an enemy, or other person in one's power; compassion, pity, or benevolence: Have mercy on the poor sinner.

child /tʃaɪld/ Pronunciation Key - Show Spelled Pronunciation[chahyld] Pronunciation Key - Show IPA Pronunciation –noun, plural chil·dren.

1.	a person between birth and full growth; a boy or girl: books for children.

It's amazing how innocuous the english language can be. Before Lori and I left for Ethiopia I searched for months for somewhere for us to volunteer while we were here. I googled "volunteering in ethiopia" and came up with next to nothing. I was flabbergasted that in the third largest country on this poverty-stricken continent there was no one looking for help. Maybe there was just no one with internet capabilities? Finally arriving at the Travel Abroad website I was presented with a couple options, only one that looked remotely legit or even worthwhile: Mercy Children. I emailed the organization using the online form provided, frustrated that there was no direct email address, and waited. Nothing. A month went by, and then another month, still nothing. So, I tried again, time was running out. Still hearing nothing we left for our trip, but I still hoped to find something when we got there. The night we arrived in Ethiopia we checked our email and I had a response! I was excited at hearing from them, finally, they had been having problems with their email server, yet we had already decided to leave the capital the next day. Promising to call when we returned, Mercy Children was put on the back burner.

After having spent the last two weeks with Obsa, Metiku, Yohannis, Getauhun, Sami, Mikyas, Ermias, and Asnake, the definitions for "mercy" and "child" seem like gibberish. These eight boys started as eight faces and eight hard names to remember and have become quite dear to our hearts. Even now, being 275 km away in Awassa, we can't help but wake up at 7:20am out of habit, thinking it is time to say "good morning" to the boys and wait for them to finish their kinche for breakfast before we can walk them to school. What better way to start a morning that holding on to two tiny hands swinging back and forth?

From the moment Eyob (Amharic for Job) took Lori and I to the Mercy Children Home to show us around and see if we were, in fact, interested in staying there and volunteering for sometime, I knew we were in the right place. I was impressed with the compound, caught contagious by his smile and spirit, and was ready for the change of pace I like most: volunteering. We saw the room we would share: a simple square with a bunk bed and two tables, and after talking it over we decided to stay. We committed to stay one week; Lori was skeptical: "What will we do?" I already knew the patience it takes to settle in to volunteering and hoped she would soon become intoxicated with ideas too. The next day we moved in and waited for the boys to come home. We had lunch, sat in the sun, and caught up on our journaling. I was outside washing my lunch dishes when they arrived home and I felt their innocent and pure joy flood the house immediately. Soon I was surrounded by boys shaking my hand and introducing themselves, my smile joining theirs. I looked across the room and saw Lori's smile was as big as mine and we laughed out loud.

And so it began; our relationship with eight incredible boys. Eight boys who had experienced more in their seven to forteen years that we had in twenty-eight and twenty-six. Each with an incredible story of living on the street and begging for food for their entire lives so far. One of the boys has two blind parents; one of the boys came from Gonder (almost 700km from Addis) and has no idea where his family is; the newest member came because both of his parents died of AIDS. And now they have a new life, in a safe home, three meals a day, school fees paid, and even karate lessons three times a week. The intensity with which they conduct their own Bible lessons each night shows how grateful they are, that they will remember, every day, how different their life is now. These boys have made such a wonderful impression on both Lori and I that we could not envision a short experience with them; we already thought about their futures on day three of being with them. Who would do times tables with Obsa over and over, and over (and over) when I am gone? Buying flash cards just isn't enough. I make him start all the way back at 8X1 when he can't tell me 8X6! I know I frustrate him as much as my dad frustrated me when I was learning multiplication! So, we had to do more.

Thankfully, I still have an incredible relationship with GVN (The Global Volunteer Network: www.volunteer.org.nz) since I first "met" them in 2003 when I started a volunteer program on the refugee camp in Ghana. Now, they are the ones I go to when I need someone to believe in me and my ideas. Lori and I worked diligently on getting together all the information GVN would need to send volunteers to Mercy Children, to help them grow and give them financial and human support. We left overjoyed that this little non-profit, struggling to pay the rent each month would soon be in want of nothing. GVN will launch their new Ethiopia Project in December and we hope to have five volunteers there each month by February! We hope Mercy Children can now achieve their dream of moving into a huge compound and taking in many more children. I just had to share this story because we are so excited! If anyone wans to see Mercy Children's current website, check it out: http://mercyethiopia.org/

I wish the connection here was faster so I could share photos! Soon enough you will all be able to see a killer photo of the boys and Lori on the GVN website! We feel so lucky these boys came into our lives and already miss them tremendously...

From the heights to the depths

“Ferenji, give me pen!” In Ethiopia I am a ferenji. In Tanzania and Kenya I was a muzungu. In Ghana I was an abruni. No matter how you look at it, no matter how tan I get, I am white! This is my fourth trip to this continent and I am struck by new similarities and differences between countries and experiences each day. Last night I concluded that Ethiopia has my ideal climate; something I never thought I would say about somewhere in Africa! Every time I have been here I have been hot, and usually, even in my sleep, continuously sweating. Not here. Ethiopia is dry, and most places we have been are at a higher altitude than I have ever lived, or even spent this much time at. We are usually above 2000 meters and the temperature is cool and the air is dry. At night we put on our long-sleeves and our light scarves before dinner; this I can get used to. Ethiopia’s mantra is “13 months of Sunshine!” and this is no lie. 13 months is no figure of speech either; here each month has 30 days and the “leftover” days comprise the last month. And each day we have been here, just about a month now, we have had nothing but sunshine. We have come to love this country.

It’s hard to fathom we have only been here short of a month. We have already done and seen so many things, that for me it’s going to take a while to process. Lori and I have been going and going almost since the day we got here; acting as if we don’t have a leisurely three months to experience this incredible place. It wasn’t intentional. Wonderful and amazing connections fell into our lap and we couldn’t pass up the opportunities. Months before we even left we were reading our Ethiopia guidebooks and putting colored paperclips on pages of interest. We thought we would take our time meandering from place to place, but as it turns out we have already summited the highest peak in Ethiopia (Ras Dashen: 4500m) and the lowest point in Africa, and one of the lowest places in the world (The Danakil Depression).

Trekking in the Simien Mountains was an awe-inspiring experience. We spent almost the same amount of time getting to the summit of Ras Dashen that I spent on my Kilimanjaro trek a few years ago. However, it was completely different: on Kilimanjaro we were going up, up, up, on one big mountain, and in the Simiens we were crossing mountain passes, going from 1800m at camp to 3500m midday and back down to 2600m at the next camp. It was difficult and exceedingly rewarding. We had frost on our tents in the morning, and a beating sun on us by mid-afternoon. We met Gelada baboons along the way which we lingered and watched for as much time as we could, taken aback by their similarities to lions, and had our path crossed by a bounding Walia Ibex. We learned the essential Amharic words we needed communicate with our dear Scout Mula, like “aruk” and “ategeb” (far and near) as well as “muk” and “kaza-kaza” (hot and cold)! And we were humbled by the altitude the last hour of our summit, but the top was a panorama to remember.

Going from the highest point in this country, to the lowest point was pure luck. The Danakil Depression is no easy place to get to, and arranging a trip there is arduous and expensive. Having left Debark (the town where we finished our trek in the Simiens) we headed north to Axum, planning on spending a few days there relaxing and seeing some sights. However, after breakfast on our first morning Lori was approached by a Canadian woman looking for two more people to join her on a trip to the Danakil. When Lori told me I was psyched, but we both thought it was bit out of our price range. Deliberating a few hours we decided to go for it. And then next thing we knew we were scheduled to be on a minibus the next day with 5 others to Mekele where we would stay one night before getting in our 4X4s to head into the desert. There are many rules associated with making a trip into the Danakil, to name a few: You are required to take two 4X4s, no less; you must have an armed Afar scout who (is supposed to) knows the roads and can communicate with the forceful Afar people; two armed and official policemen are also required to accompany you; and you must bring in all your water, food, fuel, etc. as there are no supplies out there. I will have to write more about this trip later since there is so much to say, but to put it simply, each day was a sensory overload. From walking amidst Mars-like sulphuric structures and fluorescent green and yellow gurgling pools, making us feel as if we were scuba diving in the sea, to climbing down into an active volcano in the middle of the night to witness a churning caldera of black with what seemed like teeming veins of blood constantly changing direction, we were bug-eyed the whole time.

At the moment we are in Mekele again, and have been here for two days. We are finally taking the time we promised ourselves to chill out, and have spent the days eating leisurely breakfasts, over-indulging in Ethiopian coffee and pastries, reading, and yes, usually the internet. Forgive the long blog; this is the first time we have been able to access it in Ethiopia at all, and who knows when we will be able to again. We are intensely happy, loving this country, and looking forward to the next two months.

Love to everyone.

hallelujah! it works!

After not being able to acces our blog for a month, it is suddenly, randomly working at a random dial-up internet cafe in Mekelle! So, for those of you I've pestered with mass emails, I apologize.
Ethiopia is...amazing. It's so different than i expected, and we've covered so much ground, seen so much and done so much in the last month that my head is spinning. We landed in Addis Ababa, spent one night, and fled in the morning, much to my relief. The capital city was too much for me...to crowded, too noisy, just too much, and i wasn't mentally ready. It was nice to get on the road, to stare out the bus window at lush, fertile farmland, thatched-roof homes and something new and amazing everywhere i set my eyes.

We spent our second night in the tiny town of Chancho--much to the dismay and confusion of everyone we talked to who assured us there was "nothing in Chancho!" But Chancho was beautiful. We caught a ride down a dusty, windy road to Durba, where a self-appointed crew
of little boys led us through misty rain to Muger Gorge, a chasm as wide and deep, it seemd, as the Grand Canyon, but hung with greenery and spewing waterfalls and housing the first of many gelada baboons we've encountered. Upon returning to Chancho later that afternoon, we sat in front of our room on the edge of a hill that overlooked town and watched the sunset. Everything was peaceful and perfect aside from the still-howling nearly-dead dog that someone had pushed to the side of the road after it was hit by a truck. Still, we enjoyed the sunset. We spent the evening having a drink in the little hotel cafe and playing "injera," an Ethiopian card game we learned from a few people our age who worked at the hotel. It's amazing how people can communicate and joke and laugh and even poke fun at each other without speaking each other's language.

The next morning we headed to Debre Libanos, and it turned out to be a long day of walking, walking, walking. We rode the bus as far as it would take us and then got off and walked with our packs, thinking we couldn't be any farther than one or two kilometers from our destinaton. So we walked. The scenery was stunning, the people were friendly, the air was cool and mild, and we walked. And walked. For about two hours we walked before we decided that maybe Debre Libanos wasn't as close as we thought. A empty school bus took pity on us and picked us up, dropped us at our hotel (at least another 10K down the road) and then we set off on another walk. This time we walked down a dusty, hot road through fields of baboons to our left and fire-wood-laden donkeys to our right, through a smokey, dusty village and to a great cathedral which was, of course, locked up for prayer hour. So, after admiring the exterior for a couple of minutes we turned around and walked some more. Later that day we set out to look for the Portugese Bridge, which our guide book said was on a "clear, unmistakable path", and ended up walking, walking, and walking a little more before we found the completely unclear pathway just off the road. We crossed the arched bridge and climbed to the top of a bluff and sat in awe at the massive gorge in front of us. Another amazing day.

After Debre Libanos (where I encountered the first animal i now completely despise: the flea, who apparently loves me as much as i despise it because it's traveled with me for at least half of our trip...it's an exercise in self control to keep myself from scratching scratching scratching) we took a loooooong all-day bus ride to Bahir Dar, where we met up with our first travel partner Mike from Atlanta, a guy we met at our hotel in Addis. We'd decided to trek through the Simiens together to save on costs. Bahir Dar was nice; a hotel room with a sit-down toilet, a
luxurious mosquito net in our room, and tasty spaghetti. We spent a couple of nights there before heading to Gonder, one of my favorite towns so far, where I could happily go back and spend a few weeks relaxing, eating pastries, drinking coffee, and walking through the hilly streets of town. We wandered through some castles, stared slack-jawed at a celing mural of winged cherubs, and relaxed for a couple of days. After Gonder: an early morning bus ride to
Debark, the jumping-off-point to the Simien Mountains, where we organized our mandatory scout and mules and mule handlers and gear.

The Simiens were grand: sunny and nice during the day, with fields of long orange and yellow flowers that looked like upside-down Big Stick popsicles with leaves, austere peaks that receded, receded, receded into the distance like the regal giants that all mountains are, stunning sunsets and freezing cold nights where we'd slurp down our pasta dinner and hot water with honey and jump into our sleeping bags the minute the sun went down. Our tents would be crusty with frost in the morning when we emerged just before sunrise, and we'd break down camp and grouchily ignore each other until the sun came out and thawed us all out. We trekked for six days, and I was surprised by all the people we encountered. There are villages everywhere; on the top of a mountain, in the middle of a desert, we inevitably see people and homes and livestock and it still surprises me. On the fifth day we staggered to the top of Ras Dashen, the highest peak in Ethiopia, with our amazing scount Mulo who spoke no English but was hysterical and kind and patient. We caught a huge truck out of the mountains a day early and relished our first shower and fresh meal in days.

The next morning we crammed ourselves into a delivery truck before the sun rose, and drove 11 hours to Axum. The ride was beautiful even if the company was not. We (Mike, Mandy and I) were deathly sick of each other and had no choice but to sit RIGHTNEXT to each other, sweating on each other, bumping elbows and gritting our teeth. Getting off the truck was pure ecstacy. We had a proper meal with some of the people we'd met while trekking (my favorite people so far: two hardcore amazing Austrian girls who were taking time off from their medical jobs to BIKE through Ethiopia. Wow.) Axum was a ho-hum city, but it was so nice to do our laundry, sit on our sunny balcony, eat pastries and feel the sun on our faces. We were planning on stopping and staying for a few days until I was approached one morning in the street by a French girl who was a very, very good salesperson and who proposed that Mandy and I join her and four others she'd recruited on a trip to the Danakil Depression. I'd read about the Danakil during our trip planning and was intrigued; it sounded so hot, so forbidding and eery and otherworldy and cool, but I figured since the trip required two 4x4s and a guide and scout that it was totally out of our price range. However, with seven of us, it was almost manageable, so after contemplating it for the afternoon, we decided to go.

We set off the next morning in a mini bus headed for Mekelle in high spirits. It was Halloween, a hot and sunny day and we were all getting to know each other. We stopped in Adigrat for juice and snacks then got back on the bus, and thus began the worst day of traveling i've had so far. I puked probably 20 times, out the window of the bus, much to my dismay, in front of the five people i'd just met who I was to spend the next six days with. I was mortified, grossed out, and SO SICK. I don't remember much of the day but I'm glad it's over and now I appreciate my health so much more. I'm sure it won't be the last time I puke in an uncomfortable place, but at least now I know I can do it and it's ok.

The Danakil was crazy. It was hot, dusty, sweaty, bumpy, amazingly beautiful and incredibly interesting. We hiked, in the middle of the night, up a mountain and down into a crater where we watched red-hot lava roiling around in a massive washing machine on a slow, crushing spin. We slept on rocks and ogled bubbling pools of water and alien salt formations and stared at camel caravans slowy making their way into a red, setting African sun. We watched men toil
in the hot, dusty sun, wrenching huge slabs of earth from the salt flats, whittling the dirt off of them and chiseled them into managable sizes and shapes which they then stacked on their camels and walked to the nearest village a week away to sell them for around 10 cents each. I'm so glad we went, and I'm so glad we're back.

We've been in Mekelle for the last three nights, relaxing, emailing, gorging ourselves on food (hmm, what to choose between "meet stew, meet goulash, boiled meet, meet sandwich, or spaghetti"?) and sleeping in. We leave tomorrow for Lalibela and then...who knows. We still have the entire southern half of the country to explore and I can't wait...

Until next time...