Zor-Zor Part 2-Alemayu’s Homecoming
March 16, 2010
There are few things in this world more beautiful than the mountains of Southern Ethiopia and a mother’s love for her child. Today I was blessed to witness a full measure of both. Today we took Alemayu home. The road was hard and we faced many challenges along the way, but those blessings that we work for are often the ones most appreciated.
I was happy to leave the car behind. It had been nothing but trouble since we left Addis Ababa almost one week ago.
From where we left the car it would be a long hike through the mountains, but at that point my feet seemed like much more reliable transportation. We were deep in the countryside far from anything that we would call a road. I guess I shouldn’t be so hard on the car. It had taken us over some incredibly rough terrain and was still in one piece. We parked on a grassy hilltop tucked in a small valley. A narrow trail tapered into the trees of a neighboring hill with a few grass huts on either side.
Our guide had taken us here and would continue on. He was a young man in his teens, tall and slim. We met him by chance, if there is such a thing, after going far off track. We were far up the mountain following the 
only road there was, or so we thought. As we were reaching the limit for the car we came upon a few small huts. The family was working outside, but we paid little heed until, when we were almost past, Alemayu shouted to stop. He happened to recognize one of the boys. We stopped and the family was called over. Sure enough the boy recognized Alemayu as well and knew where to find his family. After much debate, as there always is here, one of the older brothers of the boy climbed in the back to guide Alemayu home.
We went back down clinging to the side of the mountain on the steep, rocky road. A few miles down we came upon a sign which marked our way. To the left I saw what looked to me like a sheep trail, but what everyone else apparently saw as a road. Off we went. It was a beautiful bright sunny day, the first one we’d seen in a while. Had the rain come we would have been spending the night.
Finally, to my delight, we reached our grassy meadow parking lot. As we plodded our way over the rough terrain I caught myself walking with my head down watching the obstacles as they passed. All around me the birds sung, the wind whispered softly through the trees, and open vistas revealed deep green valleys sinking into the horizon. We
miss so much in this life as we are caught up in the challenges of the moment, when all we have to do is look up to see the beauty that surrounds us. If only we could see the bigger picture instead of focusing on the details.
The excitement mounted as we proceeded further on. We met one man, then another, then another who recognized Alemayu, even calling his mother’s name, and guiding us on. One of the men tried to lead us down the trail to his house with the selfish intent of sharing coffee with the foringe. We almost followed until our other guides corrected us. Choosing our guides wisely through this life is a lesson often learned the hard way.
Alemayu walked faster and faster down the trail. At one point he started to run and went out of sight. We called him down unwilling to lose our lost sheep this close to home. We reached a hilltop overlooking a valley that stretched far into the distance. On a small rise in the middle of the valley we could just see the glint of metal roofs through the haze. This was Alemayu’s hometown. The pace quickened yet again. We were in sight, but still far off.
A bit down the hill a village of small grass huts became visible at the head of the valley. We scrambled down the steep hill. We slipped and stumbled on the loose rocks, but didn’t slow our pace. Alemayu had recognized this village and at the foot of the hill just beside the trail he recognized two huts in particular. This was his home.
A farmer on the hillside gasped in amazement as he ran over and grabbed Alemayu. He hugged and kissed him repeated as he shouted praises to God. Then he came to me and did the same. Tosemo, tosemo, tosemo (pronounced Toe-see-moe), a word that was etched on my mind this day, means thank you in the local language, Gomoniya. When he released me I rushed to catch the group still moving swiftly down the hill. The farmer’s voice echoed through the valley as he loudly proclaimed the return of the one who was lost.
I caught the group as they were held up by a group of children, old friends of Alemayu. More and more people started shouting from the hillside. Then voices shouted back and there was a flurry of activity among the huts below. His 
mother was there. In shock and disbelief she was asking “have you seen him with your own eyes?” She started running up the hill to meet the son that had disappeared four years ago. They told me that she had gone mad at that time. I can’t imagine, and hope I never know, the loss that she must’ve felt. When we rounded the next turn there she was and there he was. She dropped to her knees, face to the ground. He walked slowly, shyly to her and gently pulled her up. They embraced, Alemayu speechless, his mother sobbing and praising God. Finally she came up to hug each of us, thanking us in turn, tosemo, tosemo, tosemo.
She led us down to the base of the hill. We greeted neighbors on the way. Everyone was thrilled at the return of Alemayu. We crossed a small stream and there it was, the home that he hadn’t seen in four years. His father stood speechless as he tried to process everything. An uncle and his wife were there. The women cried, shouted, hugged. The men stood dumbfounded.
We were ushered inside the dark hut and invited to sit on low benches. Our eyes adjusted slowly from the bright sun outside. The family cow made his presence well known even without sight by making the sounds and smells that only cows make. I may as well have been deaf and dumb as the others chatted around me in the local tongue. Roasted beans, barley, and peanuts were served as sour milk made the round. The plastic drinking cups were the only sign of the modern world that could be found there. Outside the door the community filed in. Each one would come in bowing and mumbling greetings then go back out. Alemayu held his younger brother in his lap in front of me. His joy was quite apparent. He would sit for a while then go out to greet old friends and explore the home that he’d missed for so long.
Eventually, it was time to leave Alemayu to his family. We had a long hike and drive to get out and the afternoon was passing quickly. We took a last round of photos, received a last round of hugs and blessings and then we were off.
So many challenges and discouragements come with this work. I often get down when I think of being separated from home and family. I’m often frustrated by cultural and language barriers. I’m often discouraged with the constant little details of the day to day. I often wonder, is it worth all the sacrifice, all the struggle?
Today there is no doubt. Today I am encouraged. Keep the wealth, keep the easy life. Today I have my reward.
A Few Notes:
- You should note first that the day this was written and the day of it’s posting are a bit off. This actually occurred last Wednesday, March 10, 2010, but lack of Internet delayed me from posting.
- You may also have noted a slight correction from my last posting. Both language and cultural issues often make details difficult to obtain. It turns out that Alemayu was gone for four years instead of two. For three years he worked in the sweat shop and one year he spent on the street. Now he’s home.
- Please forgive the lack of photos. It’s impossible to post photos with the Internet in Chencha. When we get the car I’ll be able to drive down to Arba Minch, a larger city in the Rift Valley, where there is better Internet and post some pictures from there.
Zor-zor
March 11, 2010
Zor-zor: To wander; to walk here and there with no real objective in mind.
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| Alemayu at Drop-In Center |
I think that this word, from the local language of Chencha, is an apt description of me as a child. My childhood was blissful freedom and room to roam. I was full of boundless energy and boundless curiosity. To attempt to confine me within doors must have been a miserable experience. The open woods called to me and I was bent on heeding that call. Over countless acres I would roam, content to miss both lunch and dinner. This was my domain, as many miles as I could cover and still make it home before dark. Within this domain I knew every fallen log and who had taken up residence there. I knew every bend of every creek and exactly which rock would yield a pinch from a crayfish or a glimpse of a salamander. The deer trails were my highways, always leading to newer and greater discoveries.
I would loose myself in this world. Time, a concept that I was all too aware of in the classroom, was unknown to me there. I was free and I was at home. A number of times I would find myself straining to see as I searched beneath the swift,clear water of some meandering creek. The sun had gone down on my wanderings and I was expected home.
Upon my return I would receive an adverse reaction from my parents, worry on their faces and anger in their voices. This was always surprising to me. For me the solitude of the woods was the safest place. I couldn’t possibly understand their fears.
I share a certain familiarity with the children of Ethiopia’s countryside. They are first class wanderers. They seem to be born with a natural intuition for the longest and most indirect route home. Their freedom is often restricted slightly more than mine was, as there is water to fetch and livestock to tend. However, cows and sheep seem to be surprisingly good wandering companions and there are many distractions on the way to the spring.
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Over the past couple of weeks I’ve had the opportunity to connect with one of these kindred spirits. His name is Alemayu and though it wasn’t apparent at first, I could sense some connection with him. As his story unfolded I understood that he too is a wanderer. However, his wanderings of late have been confined to the city streets.
Just two years ago Alemayu was free. Through the green hills of southern Ethiopia he would ramble far and wide, his only occupation to follow his fathers cows and sheep. He was bounded only by the steepest hills and deepest streams. Here the breezes and the springs flowed cool and clean. He knew no fears. His only cares were what wonderful new things might be waiting just behind the next hill.
One day, as he was out with his father’s animals, his life took a dramatic turn. He happened by a road, seemingly in the middle of nowhere. As he pondered where this road came from and where it might lead he heard the distant roar of a car’s engine. For curiosity sake he waited for the car to arrive. As it drove past, to his amazement, it suddenly stopped. Two men climbed out and greeted Alemayu in the customary manner. Then one of the men grabbed him and forced him to the car. The other man rummaged in the back and pulled out a large burlap bag, of the sort that is used commonly here to transport grains or potatoes. He struggled to free himself, but a boy of just 9 years was no match for two grown men. They forced him into the sack and tied him to the luggage rack on the top of the car. In this manner he traveled to the city, a full days drive if no stops are taken in between.
When they reached the city he was introduced to his new home and family, a textile mill and dozens of other boys just like himself. He spent his days at the loom laboriously working to make another man rich. There was little food and less rest. Beatings were not uncommon. By some chance he escaped and found himself trapped in yet another unpleasant world. Instead of fresh air he choked on diesel fumes. Instead of clear streams he found only filthy puddles. This is his life on the street. I now understand the fear that I saw in my parents eyes those many years ago.
Tomorrow Alemayu will be traveling with me down the same road that he traveled two years ago. His home and family are near to the town of Chencha where I’ll be spending the next few months. Over the next week we will attempt to find his family and reunite them. Our hope is that Alemayu will once again be free to zor-zor.
Jonathan Bridges
In a Perfect World – No Halfway Homes
March 10, 2010
Just yesterday I sat in amazement as a mother of one of Children’s Home Ethiopia’s beneficiaries came into the office and blasted the staff because her daughter had ignored her on the street. Not only did she pitch a fit to these staff members who are responsible for her daughter’s education, daily lunches, and general wellbeing, but she also had the audacity to express her desire that God strike down her little girl.
It turned out the incident where the mother felt ignored was a total misunderstanding. After overhearing her mother’s rants, this 13-year-old girl tearfully knelt in front of her mother to apologize for the misunderstanding. I had to bite my lip as I thought of the injustice in this situation – here this girl was, trying to restore the relationship with her furious and irrational mother. Shouldn’t the tables have been turned? Shouldn’t the 13-year-old girl have been the irrational, emotional wreck and the mother have been the voice of reason and reconciliation?
Of course such a scene is not the case for all of CHE’s beneficiaries. More often than not, I am amazed by the love and care these children receive from their desperately poor parents. But, there are those children, who need to be rescued from their own parents. The new girls’ halfway home started for children with such stories. The girls who reside there were basically pulled out of situations that were dangerous to their development and to their chances of ever leaving the streets. An abusive drunk for a father, a mother who steals her child’s clothing, and parents who let their young daughter roam the streets until the wee hours of the morning are some of the situations that the new halfway home’s residents are coming out of.
As I consider each girl who is at the new home, I have a swell of conflicting emotions from deep sadness to excitement. God has made these girls to be incredible young women despite their former home lives. One girl is brilliant and consistently top of her class. Another lights up any room she enters with a smile and her kindness. And still another has the ability to effortlessly make anyone laugh. I feel incredibly blessed to know everyone of the girls at the new home. And to think, their parents may never know what they’re missing.
In a perfect world there would be no need for halfway homes. Unfortunately this world is far from perfect, so I am happy to be a part of what Children’s Home Ethiopia is doing for the vulnerable children of this fallen world.
Thank you to everyone who gave to The Forsaken Children to see this Halfway Home become a reality!
Please pray…
- For the girls at CHE’s Girls’ Halfway Home. Pray especially that they will feel God’s incredible love for them through CHE’s amazing team.
- For God to radically change the hearts and lifestyles of their biological families.
- For Ethiopian foster families that will one day be able to provide these and other children with the families they need.
