The BBC published an article today talking about the donkey libraries that Ethiopia Reads operates in cities all around Ethiopia.
While on our most recent trip, we had the opportunity to hang out around one of these amazing innovations in literacy development in Awasa. Here are some of my photos...
Incredible experience.
We are hot and sweaty and crammed into a once-white min van that is now coated in a thick film of dust. The air in the van is thick with the Ethiopian dirt that was stirred up as we made our way to the school, and the faint smell of vomit hangs in the air. The road we traveled to get here, if you can call it a road, was so bumpy that our bottoms are now sore from repeatedly being ejected from the seats. The earlier part of our five-hour journey was filled with jokes, laughter, and conversations that passed the time, but for the past hour little has been said.
As we eagerly exit the van, we take in our surroundings. The school campus consists of four concrete buildings large enough to hold two thousand students at once. The entire school consists of four thousand, but only half come at a time. On the wall of one of the buildings there are faded paintings of thinks that pertain to various educational subjects: a human body with anatomy labeled, a map of the world, the parts of a flower, and the English alphabet. In the center of the four buildings there is a grassy area, a sort of courtyard or field, where children have stopped their playing to stare at us, the foreigners. We are met with curious, cautious eyes, but our smiles are returned when we offer them. With each smile we give, the children come closer and closer, until their fear is replaced with trust, and they beg us over and over to take pictures of them. Here, the simple act of snapping a photograph can turn into a frenzy of children who swarm you and ask for you to take, "One photo! One photo!"
On the far side of the campus, we see the library, our destination. As we enter the building, we are struck by the smell of fresh-cut wood from the new furniture. The light brown wood shines on each of the ten long tables that serve as desks, and each table has six chairs to match. The library is void of students except for one table in the back where five children huddle around a stack of books, reading out loud in English. They read slow, and their voices are thick with the Ahmaric accent, but nonetheless, they can read.
The principal of the school wears one of the biggest smiles, and he immediately approaches us to embrace.
"Thank you," he says. "Thank you again and again for this wonderful gift."
The gratitude he feels for us is so great that it causes some of us to cry. In America, we take the simple action of being able to go to the library for granted, but here, having books to read is a privilege.
The principal's face glows, and he continues to smile from ear to ear as he says, "This school has been here for forty years. In all those years, this is our first library. Thank you."
There are four words to describe the reason we are here: Noel and Tammy Cunningham. For seven years they have been coming to Ethiopia to improve the living conditions for those who live here. They are the people who inspired the Colorado donors to raise money for this library at this school. They believe in connecting the developed world to the developing world, and we have just experienced first-hand one of the many ways this is done.
Like the principal of the remote school in Ethiopia, we are gracious for our opportunity. We are grateful to have been able to experience the magical works of Noel and Tammy Cunningham, and maybe we will be inspired to devote our lives, as they have done, to helping people in need in Ethiopia.
I remember having lunch and Meeting noel for the first time, I went to lunch with work colleagues. Noel was talking to them about being more involved with Ethiopia reads. He spoke passionately about Ethiopia Reads, the country of Ethiopia and about these bracelets that raise money…. After 3 years of doing political and charitable fundraising, I felt truly inspired for the first time in a long long time. I listened to Noel, glanced at the pictures, my boss and life as I knew it, melted away. My life had just changed and it wasn't an explosion of wow, more like a nudge from the universe. An opportunity I had craved had arrived.
At the time I was working for the Democratic National Convention Host committee and in the process of raising $55,000,000 for that endeavor. In addition I was raising money for the Obama campaign in my personal time. A few close friends knew how frustrated I was with the huge sums of money for the convention and actually of the American political process as a whole. Each quarter extortionate sums of money were announced for each of the Presidential nominee campaigns; a necessary evil yet it was hard for me to comprehend an individual or campaign raising millions each quarter, surely that could build schools, solve the homeless problem. It was my world and yet it was incomprehensible.
I knew after meeting Noel and listening to him that I wanted to be a part of the passion he described. I formulated an email the day after that lunch and asked many of the wealthy people in my circle for money for Ethiopia Reads. 2 people responded. Many of these people had given $1000 and $10,000 for political candidates. I was not deterred. My disappointment motivated me. I knew Noel and Tammy were taking a group to Ethiopia, I had heard about it at lunch that day and wanted to go. It was the antidote to the excess I was surrounded with in my fundraising world.
The next piece of this puzzle in my journey to Ethiopia is............I knit. Its therapy. It’s a great love. It has taught me patience and it enables me to practice something that I find difficult. Finishing. I am sure there are a myriad of reasons why I find it difficult to experience completion in many things in my life but through knitting I can.
When my knitting skills were discovered by Noel and Tammy I was asked to teach knitting while I was there and help add another fundraising component to the Cunningham Foundation through the knitting of scarves and teaching kids how to knit scarves. Step one was to teach basic knitting, deliver yarn and knitting needles to Ethiopia, a lot more is needed but the first step has been made.
The next step in my journey was October 29th at strings at a lunch with Dr Hodes. I went to the lunch feeling great that I was raising money for a library, feeling I was ‘making a difference’ and the lunch on 10/29 brought me back to planet earth. Hearing Dr Hodes speak about the difference he was making, the kids he was adopting, the money HE was raising, the surgeries he was doing, this philanthropy floored me. As a human being, he is in a higher realm.
At this stage I knew I was going to Ethiopia. I had no fear, yet the lunch at Strings with Dr Hodes had made me realize the gift this experience could give me. The lunch did excite me even further about my upcoming departure for Ethiopia. I started to think about the possible poverty that I would see. Nothing really prepared me at all as it turns out.
Upon arrival in Ethiopia the sense of family there is evident and immediate. Ethiopians are very openly affectionate to the same sex, friends hold hands – their arms rested on each others shoulders. Hannah, one of the amazing girls I traveled has said "there is an easiness of love in Ethiopia". At the arrival gate I couldn’t believe the level of affection. It seemed that a whole village had come to greet just one person at the airport. It was a level of connectedness and unity I had not expected. This was my first revelation about Ethiopia, many more were yet to come during my time in Ethiopia.
We had been in Ethiopia less than 24 hours, we visited the Sheraton Hotel. Even though we had been in this new reality and environment, the Sheraton stands out so much it almost hurts. The opulence, decadence, western world excess and greed. It felt offensive to be there after witnessing so much poverty. It was a shocking reminder of how easy we have it. I ordered pizza for lunch, ate half and was full. The rest of the pizza went to waste. I felt overwhelming guilt. It was the strangest feeling to be at this place, this homage to western society, especially when you could see poverty just over the 12ft ornate fence.
Our arrival at the Mother Teresa Orphanage was unforgettable. Our drive to the orphanage was about 45 minutes, lots of poverty along the streets, lots to come to terms with having just arrived in Ethiopia. The huge gate peeled back and the compound revealed itself. Upon entering the hospital facility we were shown around their very limited medical facilities. The kids were extremely curious, vibrant and I wished I was able to speak their language so I could have understood the excited and animated conversations they were having. We were shown to the baby room, cribs with sick children, it was too much to bear – seeing IV's in the neck or head because they are so malnourished their veins are not properly formed. So alone. A room full of sick alone children – we had heard previous stories but it felt impossible to be seeing what my eyes showed me.
We walked down to the school, kids clamoring to the window to get a glimpse of the 'forengys' - one of the kids asked where we were from, we said America and I'll never forget one of the grade 4 boys shouting Obama's name. I'm in the middle of Ethiopia at an orphanage for children with HIV/ Aids and this kid knows who Obama is. Having just finished working on the Democratic National Convention for 3 years, this moment is not lost on me. I feel like writing to Obama and letting him know that not only does America and the rest of the world have high hopes for him, so does a 9 year old boy with Aids in Ethiopia. The lighthearted moment is short lived until we enter the toddler room. 40-50 HIV kids clamoring for physical affection. So many kids without parents. The feeling was jarring. As we walked out of the compound I reached for the small bottle of hand sanitizer in my bag. I felt like I was washing away any love or affection I had just given, it’s a feeling difficult to describe but there was definetly guilt involved.
Our journey moved further south of Addis Ababa, about 3 hours to Yetebon and Project Mercy. In many ways I felt like I was on my grandparents property. Sprawling, enclosed, natural and nurturing.
I have two enduring memories of the stay at Project Mercy. The first of which was one morning I was talking with some of the girls I taught knitting to in the afternoons; I told her that I would be coming by after school to knit again and she told me that was not possible because there was a funeral.
I asked her if the funeral was for a family member and she went on to tell me that the funeral was for the mother of one of her teachers – that the entire school and surrounding families/ villagers went because the more people that go to the funeral – it helps lessen the grief of the 'sad person'.
The sense of family at Project Mercy and in my limited experience in Ethiopia will stay with me forever, the Project Mercy Family, the Mother Teresa family and the family that Dr Hodes has created. The ties that bind are not blood but the recognition that we really are all one. The children of Ethiopia have an emotional intelligence and ease of love. Their life is so hard but they make it look so easy. Their smiles are as big as their hearts. Poverty, disease and illiteracy all need to be erased in Ethiopia – its simple, its cheap; yet the Ethiopians have something that can never be bought, a sense of community, family and connectedness that we have lost with blackberries, TV and internet.
During our stay at Project Mercy, one of my favorite things was to be in the kitchen when the kids came in for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Serving a cup full of porridge. Giving a piece of bread. My most poignant and powerful moment during our Ethiopian travels was serving lunch one day with Noel. The bread basket kept emptying and someone from the kitchen would come and fill it up. The basket emptied and no one came. I looked at Noel and the kitchen staff to discover there was no more bread. I handed out the last piece, with another 150/ 200 kids in line. It’s a moment I will never forget - the Bread running out is etched in my mind forever. No riots broke out, no crying and stamping of feet, it would have made it easier. Instead, the deafening silence of poverty. The loud shuffle of resignation. The silence was painful. The empty basket unforgettable.
Since returning I have a fire for change.
I question my laziness after seeing 12 and 14 year old girls up at 5:30am to study in quiet on a damp field.
I question my bad days at work after seeing a six year old a herding goat and a cow all day.
I question my spending habits knowing that the average wage in Ethiopia is $100 a year.
I don't question that I feel compelled to do something!! so that:
a kid can have a piece of bread for lunch
a child bent over with a spine so disfigured can have surgery to stand up straight
an adult can learn a vocation
and that a child can go to school to help lead their country to be all that mine already is.
Since returning I am working on the first annual Hope Ball. I am committed to building a legacy event/ annual fundraising stream for the Cunningham Family Foundation. I have been asked why? why the fire. And here is the answer. Noel invite me to Strings to meet with Dr Hodes 2 days before the lunch. He asked me to make a red and white scarf in time for the lunch, I never did. At the lunch I felt so small. Noels' disappointment. The guilt trip. Dr Hodes. Sick children. I had not realized the magnitude of what making one scarf could have done for that lunch. The red and white scarf may not have made a difference that day, but I was asked to do something so small that 'could' mean so much for one country or one child. I experienced that sensation again during the incident when the bread ran out. I can do something so small and simple to make a difference. Raising money for me is simple. Knitting and teaching knitting is simple. I want to be able to do all that I am able to, not because I should but because I can.
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