Hello Everyone

Hello everyone,

I just wanted to send a little note, as my departure for Addis Ababa, Ethiopia has become official. After I return to the States on Dec 8, I will have three weeks to spend the holidays with family and friends before my plane departs on January 1 for The Netherlands, where I will be for another three days for meetings before I take off to Addis Ababa. I will spend the next six months (minimum) living and working in Addis Ababa. During that time I may be visiting Kenya and other surrounding countries for meetings with NGO representatives and officials. I will also be returning to the Netherlands in March and May for meetings and the World Conference to be held in The Hague.

In June 2007 I will return to the States for my bestest friend's bachelorette party and wedding! And of course to see family and friends :)

P.S. I want to take this chance to thank everyone for their support throughout the last year as life has been a roller-coaster of emotions, waiting periods, and many, many volunteer hours.

There is no me without you

So how does it happen that - while most people instinctively try to save themselves and their families from a catastrophe - a few slow down, look back, and suddenly reach out to strangers? Instead of fleeing in the opposite direction, a few wade into the rising waters to try to yank the drowning onto higher land.
~Melissa Fay Greene, There is No Me Without You

Where to begin?

Where to begin?

I leave tomorrow and my departure is certainly bittersweet. I am definitely glad that Friday I will return to a culture that I am at least a bit more familiar with and which brings me one flight closer to reuniting with my family, friends, and a city that I can navigate through. However, I do not want to leave as I have only just begun to explore Addis Ababa and I have learned nothing about life as it is for Ethiopians. I have seen no great mosques, churches, ancient monuments, and have not witnessed tribal life, but I have been awakened by the Ethiopian Orthodox prayers, grown accustomed to spicy meat served with injera, filled my lungs with the smog of Addis, and survived the Merkato, the largest in all of Africa.

None of the above is important to my mission here, but I am glad that I have been able to experience a little bit of culture and I have learned a lot about myself. What is important is that I have been kissed and hugged by a toddler who has no family to call his own. He spent an hour with me playing hide and go seek, touching my face and playing with my hair. He would call out my name, 'Bettina, Bettina' and then jump in the air repeatedly (I had taught him to dance and that was what he liked best about dancing). He didn't speak any English but it didn't matter. His laugh as I tickled him made it sound as if it was a rare occasion to be able to smile and sit with someone that just wanted to spend time with him.

Then came the time that I had to say goodbye to the little boy in a green sweater and khaki pants with beautiful black eyes. He gave me an enormous hug and kiss and then waved yelling, 'Bettina, Bettina.' How many times can a heart break?

Hmm...There is so much to tell but I have absolutely no place to start. I suppose that I can start with how I'm feeling...I don't feel human. I feel ashamed walking the streets wearing clean clothes, shoes, and money in my purse; while sitting in the local cafe ordering a three course meal that costs only $4; and while sitting here in my 'plush' guest house while 150,000 street children are filling the alleyways trying to find a place to sleep for the night. I feel ashamed to be an expat. I have been told on many occasions by fellow expats to 'ignore the street children,' 'don't make eye contact with them because they'll assume you're interested,' 'don't say hello to anyone on the street,' 'Don't give one something because then they'll all be after you.' Tragically enough I have begun to heed their advice, ignoring the children walking in the streets, sleeping in the road wearing nothing but a ragged, stained sweater that used to be gold colored and blue pants cut off at the knees. Yes, I'm here to help children I proclaim; while doing so in my cozy office with coffee and tea service researching the history of children's rights when hundreds of thousands of orphans in Addis Ababa are screaming out for help. Help right now! Not tomorrow, not next week, and definitely not 5 years from now when the policies implemented by the government 10 years ago show any sign of aiding the current situation.

I always thought that by simply living in Addis I would feel much more content, only because I would be here with the children. The children that are dying everyday. However, my days are filled with meeting Embassy Ambassadors, Directors of Ministries, Country Representatives and UNICEF Communications Officers, and the list goes on and on and on. I continue to repeat 'Our Mission is...,' 'Our global initiative focuses on...,' 'We are partnering with....' And yes I am well aware of the fact that this is a necessary and crucial task for our organization as it is based on relationships and collaboration of NGO's, governments, and universities, it's just not me. I'm not the 'selling' type. I'm the go with your heart type that wants to help all of the orphaned and abandoned children, not categorize them on the basis of whether or not they where sandals-yes, I have now begun to help only children without shoes as I believe they are more poor than those who can afford to buy 20 cent sandals. Yeah...I feel a bit pathetic and cold-hearted as I would not survive a day in any of their shoes.

I went through my pictures today. I have taken only about 200 pictures, mostly of children of course. However, I have not taken any in several days. I don't know why. Perhaps I've become a bit immune to the crisis here. I don't know. It seems that taking a picture of anything but children in their everyday lives is not worth the photograph. Who knows....?

On a more lighter note, I walked Bole Rd to get some dinner tonight-I ended up choosing the New York Cafe. Yes, I know it's lame. Anyway for the first time I noticed that I had entered a generation I have never experienced- the 50's. As I walked the streets I finally took in the billboards, advertising, and polluted vehicles puttering through the streets. On many of the advertisements you'll find a Caucasian woman enlightened by the cleaning solution in her left hand. I figure they simply imported our billboards from that era and plastered them along the streets of Addis as I have seen only about 10 Caucasian people walking the streets during the 9 days I have been here. I have seen them sipping lattes at the Hilton, parading the halls of the Sheraton, and also in over-sized SUVs with a huge UN logo on the side, but not in the streets.

As I sit here at my computer my brain is flashing images of children. For now my mission and vision will have to survive within myself. I am a hopeless idealist.

Where should one begin?

Where should one begin? It seems it has been forever since I have written and yet it was just two days ago. I, myself am not a diary-keeper. I have the best of intentions when beginning a journey to summarize my experiences in a daily journal but it never seems to work. However, it seems that I have missed so much within just one day that I have to write. I have spent 7 days away with only 20 minutes to 6 hours of sleep per night and yet I am experiencing some of the most happiest times of my life. Yes, I am always surrounded by poverty. Yes, I am constantly surrounded by destitute children. And yes, I am always surrounded by sadness. Yet, there is so much to celebrate. Celebration is such a difficult word to write at the moment. I am crying. Earlier today, at 9 am we had our first meeting with the director and founder of the AGOHELD, an orphanage in Addis. Her story was amazing and began 20 years ago when she was in northern Ethiopia while they were experiencing a drought. Her life began when she saw an infant suckling the breast of her dead mother. She took the infant and another she found later that day back to Addis to care for the children. Within one year she was the mother of 21 children. Her husband and family abandoned her due to her dedication for her children-believing she was crazy or cursed. Currently, her orphanage is home to more than 160 children. I saw them. The infants of no more than a month old in two rooms. Four of them. I am haunted by them and I have not even slept yet. Four children motherless, fatherless, homeless, abandoned because of poverty or perhaps HIV/AIDS. Their story is unknown and that makes it even more heart-breaking. How difficult was it for their mothers' to give their children away? I am not a mother and cannot completely understand the love a mother has for her child, but just imagine...it is never due to a lack of love. It is because of love that they feel they must give their children a better life.

I am exhausted and yet I do not want to stop writing. The children. They deserve every moment that I have and it seems as though I have nothing to give. Today, I had to walk away from 4 children. Children I could have loved for the rest of my life. But I had to leave them. Perhaps I could have helped them, but I did nothing. I held their tiny hands and stroked their little stomachs to sooth them, but in the end, I left. How is one not to feel guilty? How does this work not consume you, and everything that you are or thought you were?

Bannyam, I fell in love with him. He is a boy not more than five years that I met at Hope. He clung to me. He stroked my face and touched my hair and wouldn't let me put him down. All he wanted was to be held and hugged. He is so precious. He is beautiful. Next came Eyores Meles, she is no more than 3 years. She wore a blue, ragged sweater and had dried snot covering her face. But her smile - I couldn't take my eyes off of her. Although she has so little her enormous black eyes were full of hope and wonderment. She walked up to me as I was surrounded by about 30 other street/destitute children and wanted to sit on my lap. She sat there and smiled and looked at me, just stared with amazement in her eyes. I tickled her and played with her and just hugged her, she wouldn't let me leave. As I got up to speak and visit with the other children Bannyam and Eyores followed me and clung to my legs and wouldn't let go. There were over 150 children in the feeding shelter, but they managed to attach themselves to me and me to them. Last night, as I fell asleep they were there. Their beautiful faces, full of enlightenment and joy. This is where I will volunteer. These children are amazing.

I must stop soon as I have to get up for six meetings tomorrow. But I can't, as the children are here with me and all I want to do is walk the streets and talk with them, hug them, and give them everything they could ever dream of, but I know it is not that easy. I am an idealist and though I hope that characteristic never fades, I am afraid it will. One person can make a difference and a hundred can change the world - believe and work harder than you ever thought you could - and it will happen. It will happen - it has to.

First Day in Ethiopia

Today was our first day in Addis Ababa, my first in Ethiopia and all of Africa. It was a day of heartache and beauty with a strong dose reality of what the world is and how we live. By we I mean exclusively those who choose to ignore the realities of our brothers and sisters that need our support - not just to prosper but to merely survive.

There are no words to explain what it is like here. You can be shown all of the images ever created of the city and yet still not understand what it means to be here. To walk through the streets. To talk to the poor. To ignore the children begging for food who approach you every few minutes, sometimes in groups of 5 of more. The television cannot convey to its audience what it feels like to know that some of the children you saw earlier today may not survive through the night. Every time I saw an infant or toddler I was haunted by the reality that 1 in 6 of them will not see their fifth birthday. One in six. Need more be said? What will it take for the world to realize that poverty is not tolerable. As most Americans can afford buying or renting a house for $500-$1000 per month - the average Ethiopian living in Addis Ababa makes less then $30 per month finding themselves in shelters made of tin walls, roofs, and doors with mud floors.

Food certainly doesn't have the same taste. In the States I enjoyed my meals with little regret, having little trouble with spending $5-$25 on a single meal. Here I do not want to eat and quite honestly if Maarten wasn't here I probably wouldn't be eating much at all. During my meals all I can think about is how badly I would rather give my plate to the child in the alleyway across from the restaurant, or the man 'standing' a foot and a half tall on his butt as he has only one leg - forcing him to transport himself with his one mobile foot and opposite hand on the ground. If he is lucky, he has an extra shoe to put on his hand for protection. Or should I give it to the paternal orphan who attends fifth grade that accompanied Maarten and I around the city center and helped us find our way through the city? He is so intelligent - he shines shoes when he's not attending school and as today is a holiday he is fasting and playing soccer with his friends in the streets. Perhaps I should give it to the child approaching my vehicle with tissue for sale given to him by a local aid agency; allowing him to earn a little bit of money for his family. A boy of six earning an income for a family of seven; how horribly sad.

There is beauty and heartache everywhere. Please do not be one who dismisses the heartache because it saddens your heart. It is our world and if we do not take care of each other than there will be a world no more. The beauty of the world is within every child, every smile, every tear, and of course, every heart.

Intro to Africa
My first experience of Africa is through the window of a KLM airplane. We are flying into Khartoum, Sudan - honestly, one of the more scarier items on our agenda. Through the window I can see desert with settlements sporadically decorating the landscape. The settlements consist of a house and a surrounding wall - Maarten and I believe the wall is for their livestock although the distance between the aircraft and land were much to far to confirm our assessment.
Soon the Nile came into view. What I believed to be a naturally large part of the river or the separation of the Blue and White Niles was actually the site of a flooded Nile as grass soon began to appear in the middle of the river and water rose to within several yards of many settlements. As the city came within view it was a sight of small buildings no more than a few floors high, narrow highways, and desert roads.
We finally touched African soil on the landing strip in the center of the city. As we were bused to our destination on the platform we passed U.N. charter planes, stationary weapons with guards on alert, and safety. Honestly, I thought that I might be afraid entering Khartoum airport even though I knew I wouldn't experience life in the streets. I was nervous for the unknown as I had never been in a predominately Muslim country and certainly not one that was experiencing civil war and genocide. However, it was a quiet airport as only a few flights enter the airport every day due to security and the lack of insurance companies willing to provide for the airlines in such an area.
During our stop over we were required to wait in the plane as we were not allowed to leave its confines. Passengers boarded and again, as to Khartoum, the plane was filled only about a quarter of capacity with its new destination to Addis Ababa.
Arrival in Addis Ababa was pleasant. I enjoyed that directly off the plane there were people dressed in traditional Muslim attire and lines of people. I wanted to know where everyone was from; were they local people, expatriates, traveling on vacation or Ethiopians returning from the Diaspora? I wanted to know and although I want find out, it was fun to guess.
We first had to apply for a visa as is required for all Americans. It was a good lesson in Ethiopian business. First we had to hand our passport to a clerk then she would give us a receipt. Then we were sent to go to the clerk at the end of the line to pay and process our application. The clerk didn't have any change. After waiting for the computer system to acknowledge our request we were then required to return to the first clerk in order to receive the visa. Finally our passports were returned with my first visa for an African nation! Our next venture was customs, which was simple with minimal security, however the line was making me nervous as we hadn't received our luggage yet and I was afraid it wouldn't be there when we would be allowed to retrieve it. However, I was just being uptight-it was in perfect condition.
The personal driver from the African Child Policy Forum awaited us in the reception area and then drove us to its guesthouse. The drive to the guesthouse was safe and I never felt insecure, however it was obvious that poverty pervaded every faucet of life. Everything was locked-up with tin doors and bars. It was dirty, the sidewalks were home to many, and construction on many large building had been halted (I later learned that it was because cement prices soared).
Upon arrival I was surprised by the security as there were several guards at our entrance to the compound. Everything was walled with shards of glass gracefully decorating the tops of them for extra security. It was frightening, but quiet and I was soon calmed. The guesthouse is perfectly livable, however, the water cannot be regulated, there is no gas for the gas stove, there is no microwave, but there is a refrigerator. I immediately love the glass and rock mosaic on the wall. I'm doing alright :)
After a little unpacking we make our way outside. Honestly, I was surprised that Maarten allowed me outside at night as it is my first walk in the city. However, I soon realized that the streets are safe, at least with a man in company. We walk for a while looking for a restaurant and we finally decide on a Pizzeria. We walk in and of course people look at us a bit funny, but we sit down. The music was extremely loud, but I enjoyed it as it helped me relax a bit, but Maarten didn’t enjoy it much. We began to look at the menu and soon realized that there is no pizza at this pizzeria, which is no problem, but we had a good laugh. We both decide to skip the hamburger and pasta and order traditional Ethiopia fare. I enjoyed my plate and was happy that I had survived my new taste-testing adventure, though it was extremely spicy for this Midwestern-Minnesotan. No complaints.

Warning: Please read the journal entry from earlier today first, as this is a continuation. I have posted two entries today.

As mentioned in the last journey entry, I visited two facilities yesterday. One was Kechene and the other is known as Kenema Children's Home. Kenema is the orphanage were boys transfer to after they reach age 8. The facility is home to more than 200 boy youth.

My visit....where to begin? I didn't bring a camera with me yesterday and I whole-heartedly regret that fact, however, I wasn't expecting to visit Kenema. The Director of Kechene adviced me to take a look at it, as I am trying to find a home for two street boys. What I found, I cannot sufficently explain as I am not a talented writer and my ability to explain visionary concepts is quite limited by I will try.

I have been trying to find pictures on the Internet to offer some sort of comparison but there are none. The only comparison I can offer is the photos of the handicap facility which I have re-posted on the photos page. These 200 children have 3 caretakers, two of which are cooks and therefore cannot monitor what the children are doing most of the time. During my visit, the office was closed and I saw only one adult, a woman who stays with the children overnight. However, there are 6 'houses' and therefore are inadequately supervised.

Many of the windows of the buildings were blown out, from what, I do not know. The beds were made of steel and the matresses were concaved taking the shape of a pool rather than a matress. The bathroom was one of the worst smelling places I have ever been in. The showers and bathrooms are in a single room and you can imagine just how dirty you would feel taking a shower in a room that smells as it does and is never cleaned, with no windows.

The boys were extremely helpful and gave me a tour of the facility. They were happy to have the company and I soon had a trail of teenage boys about 25 deep following me and wanting to shake my hand.

These children have absolutely nothing to do after school everyday. They want to learn a technical skill, but have no access to such an education. When they complete their schooling, they are kicked out on the street with only 3000 Birr ($300) and are expected to make a life. One without any family or community support, no skill, limited education, and the stigma that they endure everyday being an orphan. In addition, they do not know how to shop, how to find housing, how to clean and maintain themselves, or live within the community, as they have never been given the opportunity to do such things within the institution. Their prospects are extremely limited even with their determination.

What I hope is that somehow I will be able to find a program for the boys that will offer learning activities, such as mechanical training so they can have some sort of skill to offer the outside world when they are violently forced to live in the streets when their $300 runs out. But of course, as always, it is the funds that will limit my capacity to help, it's just too sad.