A Life Changing Trip to Harar, Ethiopia
There was time to turn back. As I chugged down the rocky pathway, I turned around to look back at the gate of my grandmother’s home. There was time, yet my feet kept pushing me forward when all I desperately wanted that moment was to turn around. I was scared. But the thought of 15 orphans waiting for my sister and me in the Aw-Abdal schoolroom kept me going. The benevolence and trust my peers had in me who donated kept me chugging. The pride my parents and family had in us fought my desperation to turn back. I spent hours, weeks, months preparing for this experience that would change my life, chasing a dream that years ago seemed impossible. That dream was finally coming true. How could I turn my back to it, when it was only 5 minutes away? So I kept chugging towards it, fear wasn’t about to fool me.
Last year, my sister and I planned out a ten day community service project where we would work with fifteen orphans in Harar, Ethiopia. With the help of donations from friends and family, we bought balls, crayons, coloring books, jump ropes, beads and other items that we could use with the orphans while we were there. Our goal was to make sure they were having fun for the week and distract them from their struggles. Ethiopia has a high rate of children who become orphans and this is a major problem there. Many parents are too poor to support their children or die from malnourishment or HIV/AIDs causing them to abandon or leave behind an average of 6 million orphans there. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to decrease this rate or provide these kids with parents, but I knew that I could help them forget about being different because they don’t have parents through ten days filled with fun and enjoyment in which they could use us as family support and love. And so with a detailed plan of the project we flew out to Ethiopia, both excited and nervous to be back on the land of our ancestors, the land of my mother and father. Once again we were surrounded by the dirt and poverty that roams its atmosphere, this time taking the uphill path towards the Aw-Abdal school instead of the downhill path we were so used to.
I walked into the classroom, where three girls about the age of four and two teenage girls sat silently waiting. The teenage girls smiled at us shyly and younger ones stared at us curiously as more children walked in. Each sat in a seat and looked at us with wide eyes anticipating what the ten days with us ahead of them would look like. Nervous, I could feel my entire body starting to get hot and I noticed that my hands started to shake. Suddenly, as they all sat there staring at me, waiting for me to say something or to give them direction, I felt as though I couldn’t do it; I was afraid that I wouldn’t be worth part of their summer vacation or that I wouldn’t understand them. The next ten days would prove me wrong because we very quickly became a family.
I was finally able to utter something. I told them in Harari, “Hi! I’m excited to spend this week with you guys”. After that, it became much easier. We handed out crayons and nametags for them to write their names on. Walking around the classroom and watching them write, I stopped in front of three year old Amina who did not touch the crayon and stared at the nametag. I asked her if she wanted me to help her and she shyly nodded her head yes, so I placed my hand on her tiny, soft hand which seemed to fit in mine perfectly. Her hand awkwardly grabbed the crayon and as I guided her hand across the paper she looked up at me. Silky curls escaped her loosely wrapped hijab. She was dark skinned and beautiful. Her eyes were wide and glossy and instantly in them I saw hope and love. That’s when I fell in love with this little girl. Her tiny hand was in mine and we sort of just looked at each other for what seemed like an eternity. Only two years ago Amina lost her mother who was holding her when she died selling produce on the streets. Despite this, the little girl allowed herself to continue to hope and love. From this moment on, she clung to me. She wanted me to carry her and always held my hand. And even though she had a quiet nature, she told me everything through those beautiful wide eyes.
The rest of the orphans also accepted us into their family. Together, for the next few days, we colored, painted, put together puzzles, made jewelry, and blew bubbles. We held hands, sang, danced and told stories. We smiled, laughed, and cried. We became a family and without realizing it we became attached. Each afternoon, we waved goodbye and my sister and I would walk down the hill to our house and they would walk up the hill toward their own homes. Then quickly, when Zena and I were not watching, they would turn around and follow us home, hiding behind the rocky village walls each time we turned to look behind us. I always knew they were behind me and I loved it. So every day I would pretend I had no idea, and purposefully walk slower so I could be a few minutes longer with each day.
One morning, my sister and I were devastated that we were both too sick to get out of bed and meet up with our new friends. We were so attached to them that it was hard to imagine not being able to see them that day. To our surprise, immediately upon hearing the news that we were sick, the children walked all the way over to our house to make sure we were okay. That moment when I heard they were at my house to check on us, I couldn’t help but cry tears of joy. I loved these kids and I knew they loved us too. Even though we were feeling terribly ill, the children sat around us in our home and talked to us keeping us smiling the rest of the day.
The last day with them was by far the hardest. Saying bye was never an easy thing for me. No one could let go. I held Amina in my arms and I held her tight. She looked at me and with those glossy wide eyes she told me she was scared. I couldn’t understand why, but I was scared too. Then, as her warm, soft cheeks pressed against mine, I whispered into her ears “I promise I will be back”. Then we headed off, parting with tears. Only this time, the children didn’t follow us home.
That summer I was busy being a child again; I didn’t have enough time to think about how our lives were so different. All of the reflection happened after I came home. I still remember the words of one of the older orphans as she told us about her most difficult struggle. Taking care of the rest of the kids and keeping up with schoolwork is the hardest part, she said. After long hours at school, she must come home and clean their space, wash the children, dress them, and feed them. Without a refrigerator or microwave, cooking dinner every night for 15 children is a must and she can never be certain about having enough food for dinner the next night. By the time the house is clean, the rest of the children are taken care of, and fed, the sun has set the the night awaits her with her studies. When we asked her what she needed the most, she said that all she would ask for is help- help taking care of rest of the children so that she could have time to study. This touched me. No, she didn’t want clothes or a refrigerator or a microwave. She wanted to study. At only 16 years old, she was concerned about the other orphans, kids who were not even her siblings and she was concerned about her education. Despite the difficulties life threw her way, she worked hard for the things that mattered to her; the days dedicated to her family and the nights to her studies. This girl and two of the other older orphans worked so hard that they became the top of their class. They worked so hard that Turkish school administration, having a strong relations with Ethiopia and attracted to their academic success, flew to the village of Harar to meet them and offered them full scholarships to study high school in Turkey.