Rust. Broken glass. Dirt. Ripped magazines. Clouds of smoke. Wandering souls. Emptiness. Bones. Sewage rivers. Pungent odors. Sadness. Dead animals. Trash.
Quietness…
Stillness…
This is Koshe: the dump. Late Saturday evening, on March 11, 2017, a trash avalanche occurred on the outskirts of the capital, Addis Ababa. The latest account of total deaths has reached near 113. One hundred and thirteen lives gone.
The landfill has been a dumping area for more than 50 years. There are many speculations and arguments about whose fault it is, how this problem went unnoticed for so long, etc. While I believe the answers to those questions are important, the Lord has been speaking to me that my job is to not take sides. My job is to love whoever He places in front of me.
My first day visiting Koshe, I met a woman named Salmemalku. Though she only spoke a few English words, and I only a little Amharic, we spent time together for an hour while she showed me around the dump.
We first met in a tent area with many family members waiting with photos of loved ones on their laps, asking if anyone has seen them as people pass by. My squad mate, Jessica, and I sat underneath the tent watching the families talk to one another, encouraging each other, giving hugs and kisses, and seeing what I least expected: laughter. Though they may have lost family, friends, homes, and more, they have not given up hope. And they have not stopped living.
Day after day, they wait with hopeful hearts to be reunited with their family and friends. (I decided not to take photos of the families to respect their privacy).
After leaving the tent area, Salmamalku led us to the base area of the dump. It was overwhelming. I felt tiny in comparison to the heaps of garbage that lay before me. There was recently a ban on any outsiders entering the dump area and a ban also on taking photos – it was lifted a few days ago.
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The second day I visited the dump, my teammate Agnes and I met a guy who speaks a handful of English. He told the families in the tent area who we are (volunteers) and translated our prayers as we prayed for them.
From there, he escorted us to the dump and I convinced him to take us all the way to the top. Agnes turned back halfway because of the overwhelming smell of sewage, burning chemicals, rotting food, etc. Hiking up a landfill is definitely something I never thought I would intentionally do. But I just keep feeling there was some reason I needed to go – some reason I needed to see the landfill from my own perspective overlooking the entire vicinity.
I am still processing the stories we heard and everything I encountered. It’s overwhelming. Though I could easily dismiss the trash as just a landfill, it changes when you visit and meet families who have lost their home, relatives, friends, security and all of their comforts. It becomes real.
“Now that I have seen, I am responsible.” Brooke Fraser, Albertine
And the reality is that my squad is leaving for Malaysia. We get to leave. We don’t have to sit around and mourn the losses of loved ones with the survivors. We get to leave the devastation.
So what does this mean? Why am I telling you this?
Their stories don’t end here; they continue on. And though I can’t remain here in person, I can continue to share their stories. I can pray for them. I can carry the same hope they carry, that no matter our circumstances, the Lord sees us and cares for us. I can share that hope with others. We are His children. He knows our brokenness, our wounds, our pain. He is with us all, always.
“And I am on a plane, across a distant sea, but I carry you with me…” Albertine
