Our trainers at Mission Training International taught us about “living in paradox.” I didn’t know how well this concept would apply to my initial experiences in Ethiopia. There are things that I love, and things that I despise. To not force myself to reconcile the two lets me accept what is difficult, while not losing sight of what is beautiful.
There are so many examples I can think of to help describe this paradoxical existence! The second night we arrived in our house, we’d nearly unpacked all 17 trunks when the power went out. I ended up giving Adeline a bath with a head lamp, which she thought was funny. We are so thrilled to have landed somewhere—and the house is more than I imagined it could be. It’s a sturdy house, built by Lutherans in the 1940’s, and is surrounded by woods and fields. God is so kind, to allow me to live in this unexpected, green place, tucked away from the busy world outside the gate.
I love that the house has lots of storage—suddenly, my spatula has a drawer, my craft supplies have a designated cabinet, and my towels have a shelf. Never have I totally understood the “somewhere to hang your hat” phrase until now. Of course, it isn’t perfect…the toilet leaks, the sink in the front bathroom leaks, and the kitchen sink leaks. Adam spent an hour one morning digging through a shipping container full of random plumbing parts near the entrance gate to our compound. When he was about ready to give up, he happened to pull out the right size hose. So now, it’s fixed, but we still have to close the oven door with a bungee cord.
Some things are entirely new and strange, some things are reminders of what’s missing, and some things are unexpected, funny mixes of both. For example, when we pulled in, Adeline exclaimed “we live in a jungle!” (Like our beloved Corduroy, “This must be a jungle…I’ve always wanted to live in a jungle.”) We were fairly isolated in our house in rural Indiana, but now, Adeline is surrounded by children her own age. And, since the families who live here are mainly ferenge (foreigners), Adeline is surrounded by many languages. Our neighbors are Swedish, and there is a girl her age in the Danish compound which adjoins ours.
Quickly, language barriers cease to matter with soccer balls, water spickets with shovels and a day-old litter of puppies. If anything, confusion is a cause for amusement, and maybe that’s the best approach. For example, Adeline heard the some of the Swedish children talking and looked up and said, “Mama, ‘ach, ach, ach, ach’.” Yet, this doesn’t keep her from running along gleefully in a large group of Swedish boys, wearing a tutu and brandishing a stick.
While these experiences are joyful, others are causes for significant distress. Like the 4 a.m. call to prayer, the bouts of throwing up as our systems get used to Ethiopia, and Adam’s extreme difficulty in getting a driver’s license. As if I have not already been up a couple of times during the night with Cecelia, the nearby imam makes sure I won’t fall back to sleep. It is not fun to watch your child throw up for 36 hours, or to see the tears well up when she accidentally dips her injera in a pool of berebere and takes a big bite.
Nor is it fun to face a frightening “squatty potty” as your only option when potty training your two-year-old. The first night Adeline woke up with her face covered in mosquito bites, I listened to the planes flying overhead and wanted to escape. Since then, she’s endured multiple assaults, despite being covered by a net. I wonder sometimes if the marks will fade, or if they will remain the rest of her life as a reminder of the bad things.
During my first weeks here, I quickly learned the word “yelem.” It is the opposite of “ale,” or the verb “to have.” There are many things that the stores here may not have, and so it is a word I often hear. One of the most common reports from fellow expats here is that it’s kind of “hit or miss.” For instance, we had not had internet for weeks, so out of desperation I went to a coffee shop with wifi. They happily handed me the password, but when nothing happened, I went to the desk to inquire. They looked at me quizzically and just said “yelem.”
So, I think it is no coincidence that the word “falage” which means to “want” or to “need” also means “to look for.” So often I find myself looking for what I need or want and not finding it. Meanwhile, I am carrying my 2 year old and 6 month old along for what seems to be some kind of cruel scavenger hunt. I do not think it is a mistake that early on in language, we also learned the phrase “Xabier Ale.” This is used typically when someone is sad, and it literally means “God is here,” or “we have God.” And He is here. And I pray that when I am lacking eggs, sugar, or especially patience I will be driven deeper into His sufficient resources.
Another common phrase is “chigger yelem,” or “no problem.” But often, as a wise administrator at the language pointed out, it actually means something closer to the following: “’chigger ale,’ but we have a relationship that is important. I trust you, and you trust me, therefore, I will choose to overlook the problem.” There are indeed many problems– as my western eyes take in the sights, smells, and customs of this place, and as they look back at me. But I know that with God’s grace I will be able to show the love of Jesus even as I experience His love for me through them.
We are here to help grow the KAC (Kristos Andinet Church), our partner church in Ethiopia. And I love that my young children will see early on His great love for all the world. In preparation for our first attendance at a KAC church plant, I tried to explain in advance how God understands every language, and that someday, people from every tribe, tongue and nation will be praising Jesus around His throne.
But even my attempts to prepare her did little about the reality of her two-year-old attention span. As we entered the small room built with mud walls (chicka chicka) and a tin roof, we were quickly shown to a couch on the stage. This was the last place I would have chosen, as I worried about how the girls would make it through the three hour long service. To add to my concern, though barely larger than a living room, the church is fitted with a loudspeaker that can be heard far, far away.
Though I am happy to worship there, I wonder what it will mean for Adeline. Yet, there are other things that can be learned outside of a Sunday school perfectly suited for her age. Until we came here, she has heard about Jesus the Good Shepherd, how he holds the lambs close to his heart. How he leads them beside cool water to drink and good grass to eat. How he rejoices when He finds the lost one and carries him home. We had barely been in the country two days when we passed through a village on the way to Langano. There, outside on the bumpy, dusty, road, as a shepherd passed by leading a flock of goats, Adeline exclaimed, “Mama, a shepherd!”
My prayer is that God would use both the beautiful, strange, and uncanny mixes of both to shape us, here, and that through all of them, we would know Him more.