Outside the rain is coming down in sheets. The sound of it smashing against our tin roof, coupled with fierce gusts of wind and the deep bellows and cracks of thunderous clouds makes a song that brings me back home.
Home is something I miss more these days.
In one hand sits an American-sized mug of piping-hot tea. It’s a rainy-day tradition of mine, dating back to before I can even remember, and one of the only Oregon comforts I have been able to consistently cling to this year. That, and the fuzzy blanket currently engulfing my entire body.
In the other, I’m holding a sweet and juicy mango that I bought down the road for mere cents this afternoon. It’s a reminder that I’m not yet home. That I’ve got two months of this journey to go. That I’ll never be completely home. That when I signed up for this I was signing up for bits and pieces of my heart to be left like breadcrumbs around the globe—for my heart to always be elsewhere. My friend warned me that would be the price I pay for the richness of knowing and loving people in more than one place.
Currently my team is in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. This place is beautiful, especially the short snippets of countryside we have seen during our visit. I’m not too fond of the city though. There are so many people and so much traffic that I get a smog-induced stomachache every time we travel through the city. But beauty is still known in these streets. It is in the women adorned in colorful garb carrying packages with ease atop their heads. It is in the skyscrapers constructed by not much more than eucalyptus poles, mud, gravel and the hands of a few young men. Beauty is in the pitter-pat of muddy-bare-foot children running up and down the busy sidewalk. It is found on the street corners where the laughter of friends mixes with the aroma of freshly roasted coffee beans. A woman pours the second round of coffee from her jebena into their small ceramic cups. It is seen in a hospitality that is far from ordinary—that goes much beyond the extra mile. Beauty is etched deep into this culture, and these people.
Addis is the first place on the Race that has felt unsafe in any way to me. But in some strange way, it is an un-safeness that makes me feel right at home. As we walk through town, swiftly weaving through crowds of people whose eyes scan our bodies from head to toe for anything they might be able to swipe from us, I am reminded of what Northeast Portland was just ten years ago. This is familiar territory—nothing that white-knuckles around my purse, a clenched jaw and my best Clint Eastwood stare wont cure. But just in case, the 24/7 security guard Asiri whom lives in a small metal box outside our home mimed a few self-defense moves to keep us safe while navigating through the concrete jungle. The language barrier didn’t keep us from understanding: Groin kick! Elbow Strike! Liver punch! Eye gouge!
Here, it is not uncommon for the power to go out. Although we were blessed to live in a beautiful and modern home this month, the power cuts off at least once a day, sometimes for 24 hours at a time. It’s just a part of normal life here. I’ve found that it rarely has any impact on our day, and is actually kind of nice at times. It makes me laugh to think that in America, if the power goes out for more than 15 minutes in an area, every local news channel broadcasts the issue, and the whole world seems to stop until it’s resolved.
Coffee ceremonies are an everyday occurrence in Ethiopia. The entire process of coffee creation from unroasted green coffee beans resting over a small flame, to smooth, hot, black coffee warming your hands happens right before your eyes. Each ceremony takes anywhere from 30 minutes to a few hours. It is a time to come together with those around you and just be a family. Traditionally there is popcorn to snack on as you sip coffee and chat. It reminds me of how in my home hot chocolate and popcorn are an inseparable pair, and of all the sweet memories I’ve had with my own family as we laughed over mugs of thick cocoa and handfuls of buttery popcorn. It makes the instant-on-the-go coffee culture of America seem so much less desirable.
Life here is simple. I think that’s what I love and loathe the most about it.
Some days the place I call home feels much too far away, and I long to be there for just a moment. Some days going home is the most terrifying thought, and I only wish I could stay here longer.
** P.S. Yeah, there have been riots and robberies too, but that’s a story for another blog.
P.P.S. We’re very safe, so don’t you guys worry one bit!
Next stop: Rwanda
