A Tale from Ethiopia: Walking the Streets of Addis

I slept in well past noon, consumed by exhaustion and weird dreams. I took a shower and thought: "You're crazy! What the heck are you doing here? You know practically nothing about this country, and you neither know anyone here nor even anyone who has ever been here! I was blazing my own trail! Well, there was nothing I could do about it, for my departure flight was 17 days away. Until then, my goal was to explore the ancient land of Ethiopia. So after my custom of reading my Bible and praying, and after some leftover sweets from Cairo from where I had just come the night before, I sallied forth on my first day in Addis Ababa, locally abridged to 'Addis,' Africa's third largest city. I felt at peace only because I am a child of God!

The first thing I noticed was how few shops were open on this midweek afternoon. I next perceived that very little traffic busied the streets. This eerie reality dominated the balance of the week, and I rapidly learned that it resulted from political turmoil that was wreaking havoc on the country. Suffice to say that Ethiopia's recent elections were highly disputed. Many citizens felt certain they had voted in a new president, but official polls retained the 14-year reigning president, Meles Zenawi. Angry, though mostly peaceful, demonstrations broke out in light of this, to which the army and police responded by massacring 36 people and arresting 1000 others. This occurred the week I arrived in Addis, so high tension embodied my entire stay there, and police and soldiers were everywhere. This should be kept in mind, dear reader, as a constant, fearful element of my time in Addis. However, for the remainder of this story, I will impart some of my other memories and interactions from within that incredible metropolis.

If the lack of normal commercial city activity was profoundly and immediately evident, so, too, was the omnipresence of people begging and living on the streets - often ironically beside the construction of grand buildings. The grave reality consisted of young, old; male, female; crippled, blind, and healthy - far more beggars than anywhere else I had ever been. I prayed and wondered about how I could help them. I wished to be more than a mere source of money, though in truth that is all I was to many persons. Seeing maybe a dozen Westerners a day, I was acutely aware of being a white firanji, or foreigner. One comfort was knowing that the role of Savior for this city or country or continent was not ascribed to me, although sometimes I wondered whether anyone else cared about these people. Yet my soul felt compelled to action, so I purchased some fruit the second night to offer to people the next day. It was trivial, but it was a start.

I began with five oranges. Four of these were gone literally within five minutes of exiting my hotel (giving one orange per request). Later I bought six more oranges, and then some more after that - sharing all with little delay and no advertisement. I also tried bananas and mangos, but the bananas devolved into a soggy, slimy mess that necessitated the regrettable disposal of them, the other fruit, and the bag itself - after which I favored only the round fruits! Fruit in Addis was both cheap and delicious. My final purchase was 1.5 kilos for seven Ethiopian Birr, or about 3.5 pounds for $1 - a deal worth about a dozen handouts. Yet evidently this meager price was costly, because while virtually all my recipients showed gracious gratitude, they usually took the produce hungrily as if it was their first food of the day. Moreover, I saw a few folks divide their prize two or four ways amongst their siblings or children. Occasionally - I wish I had done more - I tossed fruit to kids, or played a brief game of tag or soccer with them. But I always tried to smile as big as them when they thanked me. I thought: "How much fun would Jesus make this tiny ministry?" I wanted to be positive, for "God loves a cheerful giver." (2 Corinthians 9)

My heart writhed to see such poverty. 'Ghettos' dotted the vast city, each one fenced off from 'civilization' by tin walls and roofs, housing countless in myriads of miniature shacks. How must an inhabitant's life-story read there? Could I ever understand? Could anyone? One day, I timidly ventured into one of these areas. They scrutinized: now smiling, now glaring, now turning away. Our minds quizzed each other. On which fragile piece of common ground as fellow human beings could we stand to form a relationship? Sadly, mutual ignorance left us reticent, and I did not stay long. Back 'outside,' I saw multiple men urinate in public, with neither a bathroom nor a latrine nearby to use. More shocking was two or three instances of men bathing on the side of the street. One man used with a little bar of soap in a large mud puddle. Another lathered up in what appeared to be the runoff from a proximate sewer.

The most wretched aspect of street life to me was those whose literal homes were literally on the sidewalks. I have seen people sleeping on sidewalks before, even in America, but nowhere near as frequently or on as many major roads as in Addis. In ten minutes one night, I walked past no less than 15 people sleeping at my feet. And at 7500 feet elevation, though near the Equator, Addis is not exactly cozy at nights. At worst these people were wrapped in a plastic sheet; at best they had a 3 x 3 x 7-foot casket-like place they had evidently built for themselves. Right there. I saw inside a couple of these residential coffins as their lone dweller exited or entered them. One gentleman was arranging his blanket after waking up in the morning. Inside was a very short shelf about three inches wide, with perhaps two small photos and bites of food, and a soda bottle - that was it. The doors of these desperate, little lodgings were smaller than a basketball backboard; and to consummate their grim scenes with irony, each door was cheaply padlocked. These dire means of survival were enough to be protected by their owners as 'home.' All these things only inspired me to buy more fruit for the next day.

After some days, I began to feel more at ease - but only minimally. A fraction of my soul became familiar with having people approaching me endlessly and asking for money. But I never got used to the numbers of people sitting against walls all day, doing - nothing, it seemed. Most of these were nursing mothers, or elderly persons crippled or blind, or children who were perhaps homeless or parentless. Many requesting just one Birr, or about 12 U.S. cents. They were poor enough that a single Birr may have helped their situation. I was the more emboldened in sharing fruit, dispensing over 13 pounds of it in one day.

Despite all the economic and political despondency I witnessed in Addis, I did experience many wonderful moments. The city was built on myriads of hills in a vast valley with mountains forming the distant horizons. Every day I walked for hours around the city, trying to cover new territory, and visiting numerous restaurants, museums, churches, and other sites. In eight days, I saw a great deal of the city and felt quite familiar with many of its main and even secondary roads. Perhaps best of all were the folks I met, which generally produced educational, helpful, and kind conversations with whomever spoke much English (a small portion of the populace). I met some in restaurants, others as self-invited 'helpers,' still others just casually co-ambling down the street together. Many of these people just tried to acquire money from me, now bluntly, now discreetly. However, a number sought genuine discourse and offered to show me a little of their hometown. Below are three of my dialogues.

One of the guards at the main city theater - the Broadway of Ethiopia - is named Samson. He seemed to love the word 'fantastic.' My name, for example - Nikolas - "is a fantastic name!" said he. Of everyone I met that week, only Samson and one other person praised their president's leadership and likewise downplayed their country's problems. Predictably, these individuals were both from Zenawi's tribal homeland in northern Ethiopia. As a decently-paid guard, Samson had a different view of his country than most other Ethiopians I met. I tried to take his word for most of what he said, acknowledging his right to opine just as anyone else. Yet I could not concur with his broad view of the condition of his nation, such as the arrant poverty and tyranny being neither unconscionable nor reprehensible. Notwithstanding, we conversed pleasantly together for at least 30 minutes. He bought me a beverage and sat down with me while on duty - a beautifully regular element of East African culture! I actually saw Samson again on my final day in Ethiopia. Coffee and his work shift once more effectuated our dialogue; then he joined me in the theater to watch a play. It was weird for me, but I became grateful because he translated parts of the comedy for me so I was privy to what was transpiring on stage! He also bought me two little bracelets as gifts of his friendship. Despite his political and social oblivion, his relational and religious characteristics were fantastic! He eagerly articulated his love and devotion to Jesus Christ, and became ecstatic upon hearing that I also followed the Savior. When we finally parted, he expressed his joy for our friendship, and promised me prayers and letters - vows he has since fulfilled at least twice!

Another notable friend I met while wandering through Addis was a Seventh Day Adventist named Daniel. He was a university-educated businessman. Upon meeting me, he took a random, generous hour out of his day to escort me to Ethiopia's biggest Orthodox church. He did not ask me for any "tips." To the contrary, he thoughtfully and kindly interrogated me about America and why I was in his country, and he answered my queries about him and his native land as well. His English was superb, among the best I recall from my journey. Moreover, Daniel based his hopes, fears, and convictions on integrity, non-rashness, and education, which helped me balance some of my opinions regarding his land and people. My last memory with him is akin to my partition from Samson and many others: an exchange of contact information - in case I ever return.

On my last day, I ventured into Addis once more to reap the final lessons of my opportune existence there. Allowed to keep my bags in the hotel office, dawn found me on an hour's stroll to a museum. En route, I was approached by a man in a prodigiously aggressive manner, though he never capitulated to violence. From across the street, the stranger started shouting something about an "explanation." Drawing nigh, he firmly grabbed my left arm. I shook my arm once; two seconds later, I wrenched free and ordered, "Hey!" He finally let go. I hastily resumed my path, but he followed closely for several paces before halting. He yelled for another half-minute. I was a little shaken, but had stayed calm. When threatened, one has an uncanny ability to comprehend the situation, despite all fear. I had instantly discerned that we were in public, on a major road, at mid-morning - he was just crazy. I encountered a rather high number of 'lunatics' in Ethiopia. It was always strange and rarely welcome. Yet this scenario proved unique in two ways, one being his physical insistence. But equally distinctive was the lack of aid I received from passersby, who normally shooed or shoved perpetrators away rapidly, affording me a warm sense of security. Oh well; it was still ok!

I guess that is one way to summarize my entire stay in Ethiopia. "Oh well; it was still ok!" God led me through each trial. I savored legions of amazing moments there, but suffered several hardships, too. When I left that beautiful country, I was eager to go. Too eager. For now I long to return - though perhaps not alone - and see what else I can learn about that ancient nation and its 'fantastic' people. And perhaps next time I can stay longer and distribute more fruit - or better yet, pursue and proclaim Jesus Christ more completely than on my first sojourn there.