Friday, March 28, 2008

Fire Walk

For the past 2 months, after the sun sets light still blazes from the mountainside – in the form of fires. These are not just small cooking fires at people's tookels; these are brush fires that are purposefully set. Now the beautiful mountain that I love to wake up to is covered with ugly black sores.

Why are they burning the mountainside? Because it is believed, and partially true, that burning any vegetation present will encourage a fresh growth of grass to sprout and feed their livestock. However, in the middle of the dry season a slight breeze will char huge sections, beyond their intended area. This scorched ground promotes drought as all moisture is depleted and no transpiration through photosynthesis takes place. In addition, wildlife lose their habitat, having no cover to protect themselves. The loss of vegetation also adds to the already horrendous erosion problem this country suffers. When the rains come, much of that exposed soil washes away.

One day several weeks ago classes were cancelled for grades 5-12 so the student body and teachers could go into the mountains and encourage farmers to stop burning. I was really excited that the school (teachers) cared enough to allow time from their schoolwork to spread this important message.

I tagged along with one of the 10 groups that was dispersed throughout the mountainside. As we walked, the students chanted their message in a call and response. As they passed farmers, several spokespeople would approach them and share their mission. Everyone seemed to listen respectfully, but I wondered what they were really thinking.

The hike wasn't easy; in some sections there was no established path and we would have to grab any vegetation available to pull ourselves up the steep slopes. I had no grounds to complain though - I wasn't wearing a skirt or tread-less plastic shoes, as most of the female students were.

After about 4 hours of hiking deep into the mountain ravine, we began the trek back to the school. As we got to a clearing directly across from where we started, we looked up to see smoke rising in the exact place where we had climbed just 3 hours earlier! Within minutes, the wind had fueled the fire to engulf a huge section of the hillside. You'll be able to see the progression in the photos…this occurred in about 3 minutes! We saw the red flames and could hear the brush crackling. It was surreal to realize that we had just been in that very place. I had been witnessing these fires on the mountain from the safety and security of Project Mercy for the past 2 months. Now it really hit home to truly experience the devastation of fire. Thankfully, there were no homes or lives in immediate danger, but I'm afraid it's only a matter of time.

Afterwards, I talked to some of the teachers about the responses they received from the local farmers. Most everyone understood and agreed that burning can instigate a drought and many felt that a drought was eminent. They believed that those who burned should be punished, but there is no enforcement. Apparently the regional supervisor himself was burning!

Most people in this community are not naïve to the consequences of what they're doing. However, their lives depend on those hillsides and they can't think about the long-term effects of their actions when they're hungry today. And if burning can give them immediate benefits, as they believe it does, that's what they'll do. God instructs us in Genesis 2:15 to take care of what He's made. As annoyed and frustrated as I may be at the devastation they're bringing to their land, I've never been in a situation where I wasn't sure if there would be food tomorrow. This is a mindset that will take a long time to change. However, it's extremely encouraging to see this generation of students take a stand. Many students were visiting their own families and probably didn't have the courage to speak up to their parents on their own. Pray that these people can learn to have hope in a future and adopt more sustainable farming practices.

Tuesday, March 25, 2008

Le Salam Lidet

Baby Salam turned 2 earlier this month. "Lidet" means birthday in Amharic. Birthdays aren't generally a big deal here, largely because many people don't know their own date of birth. However, since Salam is the baby at Project Mercy, we had a little party to celebrate this milestone.

As you can see in the photos, she was pretty clueless about being the center of attention, but the party hat stayed on. And the cake was miraculously divided into 70 pieces, so everyone got a bite.

Salam and her four brothers.

In some respects I feel like her mother…I've walked her to sleep, punished her when she ate dirt, changed her soiled clothes, and taught her how to say "avocado". She comes to my room periodically to scavenge for any sweets she can find, and is often my shadow in the greenhouse while I'm working. It's pretty special to have this little girl run up to me when I first see her in the morning and throw her arms around my legs.

Sunday, March 9, 2008

An Evening Jog

For the first time in 5 months, I went running outside the compound.  Before you jump to the conclusion that I'm extremely lazy or housebound all the time, I'll have you know that I am a sporadic jogger and the Project Mercy compound is 50 acres.  It's not difficult to remain in the confines of the 4 walls for a week at a time, leaving only for church and trips to use the internet in Butajira. 

About an hour before sunset on a Saturday evening, equipped with my I-pod, I ventured out of the gate.  I was listening to some new music reminiscent of the Out of Africa soundtrack, for those of you familiar with that.  I wish there was a camera built into my forehead to capture all the sights and sounds happening along the way.  Since there isn't, I'll do my best to describe it…

The music I was listening to really set the mood to make me feel like I was in a movie, strolling through life in Africa.  First, I passed by women and kids carrying their water jugs to the nearby well for tomorrow's supply of water. Then I reached the well, with a small crowd mingling around.  Some smiled and greeted me; others just stared, bewildered at the site of a ferengi running.  As I made my way around the first corner of the compound, a handful of kids ran up to shake my hand with huge smiles on their faces and clusters of flies gathered at their eyes and running noses.  "Why don't flies bother me or other adults here?" I pondered.  Because they know better; the kids are easy targets because they learned to be desensitized to the flies' annoying tickle when they were wrapped on their mothers' backs as infants, arms tucked in the nutella, or cloth, unable to swat them away.

As I journeyed on, I passed an adolescent boy who boldly demanded, "Where are you go?"  Then past a poor ox chewing on some dried enset (false banana) leaves, looking up at me dejectedly as if to say "this tastes terrible, but it's all they got."  A couple girls were sitting in front of their tookel braiding one another's hair.  Men were turning over the soil with long-handled spears, chanting as they worked to keep a rhythm and prevent the work from becoming too laborious.  I greeted everyone I passed by saying Asham, which is the Graginia (local tribal language) word for hello.  Most would respond with Asham.  Several older women laughed and said something like "the ferengi said Asham!  She knows Graginia!"…when in fact, that is one of about 3 words I know in Graginia!

At one point two little boys, probably about 5-6 years old, began to follow my shadow.  Initially, when I glanced back and realized they were following me, they timidly slacked back.  Then I told them in Amharic to hurry and keep up.  Bright white teeth appeared as they broke into smiles and continued on the path in their bare, dust-covered feet.  A while later, they yelled to 4 girls chatting nearby.  The girls came running to get a better view of the spectacle the boys had interrupted them about.  The gawked for a second and then I challenged "Rootoo", meaning "run with us."  Giggling, they joined the parade.  They eyed my I-pod and declared "One camera!" "Photo!" I tried to explain that it was music, not a camera.  As I rounded another corner, exiting their jurisdiction, they bid me "caio!"  Then I was on the home stretch back to the compound gate, passing the same women and kids with filled water jugs, bearing the heavy loads on their backs, yet still smiling!  I wished I could lessen the load for them. 

Two of the housekids peered over the wall from the inside, calling my name and laughing at me being out in "the world."  I'm comfortable and secure in the Project Mercy bubble, but felt so alive being in the midst of daily life in Yetebon.  I can't wait to do it again!