Ethiopia - The Poverty

I'm sure by now you've recognized The Poverty that exists in this country, even in the large and bustling capitol city.  Here are some more evidences.

The Doing Your Laundry Out On The Street

The Begging

 

The Making Do

The Homelessness

Ethiopia - The Business

Here's some pictures of how hard working people are making a living in Addis Ababa.  I was surprised to see this clothing store's sign in English.

Sometimes,  a "store front" is more like a lean to or a tent.

In the next photo, it first looked to me like all the merchandise was merely under the canopies. I think now that it's a whole store spilling out onto the sidewalk under the canopies.

I appreciate the dedication and hard work that business owners have to set up shop however they can. Sometimes it's in nothing more than a shack.

Sometimes it's a real shop.

But there were lots of shacks.

Here's a butcher with meat hanging unrefrigerated right out in the open. 

Ummm, no thanks.

Sometimes a business is a mere blanket out in front of, perhaps, one's home.....

or on a stretch of sidewalk ...

or up against a parked car.....

Sometimes your advertising is just putting yourself out there......

....setting up shop with whatever kind of shelter or structure you can....

Sometimes putting things to creative use helps earn a living...

And sometimes a business is being ready to seize opportunity when it comes your way.  Like when a  bus full of tourists (or people on a medical mission trip) stops for a moment on the road near your village.

The faces of young entrepreneurs trying to eek out a living....

Ethiopia - The Scaffolding

Of course, the capitol city of Addis Ababa is a very big city, with big buildings, hotels, and businesses. Of particular interest to The Fisherman was the crude scaffolding used.

It's sticks!  Little skinny log poles make up their scaffolding.  Geesh, that looks scary.  Our metal scaffolding with 2x12's laid across is scary enough, but this?! 

And look how high!! YIKES!

But to the guys who work it, it's nothing.  They do it everyday.

Hi Guys!  You are brave and I admire you!

Did I say "guys" who work the scaffolding?  Get a load of this hardworking, brave woman! It looks so uncomfortable and precarious to be making her way across the narrow, round poles under her feet.

Here's the two guys in context of their entire work environment.

It's one thing to see this scary looking scaffolding attached to a sturdy building already built, but how do they build these tall structures to in the first place?  With even MORE timber scaffolding, of course!

And it goes HIGH up, too!

And all around!

I am fascinated by this seemingly primitive scaffolding.  Though it looks so rickety, unstable and round instead of flat for worker's footing, it seems to work pretty darn well.

Ethiopia - The Architecture

The Fisherman's first introduction to Ethiopia was that of the wealthy side, with a nice hotel and fancy wedding celebrations in the park across the street.  In short order, however, the team grew well acquanited with the architectural sights of the poorer areas of Addis Ababa.

A novel security device?  Or perhaps a once in tact collection now broken?

Lots of corrugated sheet metal.  Scavenged, rusted and battered...

Ethiopia - The Weddings

After their long journey across the world, the exhausted team had several hours to rest and settle in to their hotel rooms before their first meeting together.  The Fisherman had just laid down for some much needed sleep when he heard music and celebration coming through his window.  He got up, looked outside and discovered a beautiful and enormous park across the street in which seemed to be multiple wedding celebrations going on at once.  He grabbed his camera and headed over. The park, he said, was about the size of three football fields and therefore able to support multiple independent weddings at the same time.   So one of his first experiences in Ethiopia was of the universal custom of the marriage celebration.  It was also a representation of the wealthy side of Ethiopian life.

There was the green and peach wedding...

....the gold and white wedding...

Some wedding parties wore garments of the culture while other brides and bridesmaids were clad in western styled gowns you'd expect to see here in the U.S.  There was the red wedding...

The wedding parties each walked around in a parade like way. I am left very curious about this custom as he never found out anything about it.  But he watched wedding after wedding conduct the same display.

I'm thinking these people below are not a wedding party but musicians/singers.

Of course the music, the singing, clapping, and drums, must have been beautiful both to hear and behold. 

Look at that awesome drum!

With what looks to us like "ancient" garb, it struck me funny to see the juxtaposition of the beautiful draping clothing and...a cell phone.

Or is that an iPod?

Another thing The Fisherman observed was the Bride and Groom engaging in this custom...

The car was moving slowly at only a couple miles per hour as the Bride and Groom held hands over the roof and hung on for the ceremonial ride.

There was the turquoise wedding....

And another turquoise wedding....

More music.  The Fisherman is always attracted to music.

I'm wondering if at some point the bride and groom walk between these rows of singers below.

Then there were these guys who played this interesting instrument...

It has one string and is played with a bow, different notes being created by where the fingers are placed on the string.  The string is comprised of multiple strands of horse hair.  The body of the instrument is a square box made of stretched animal hide like drums have stretched over them. The instruments range from simple to ornate, as one would imagine. And The Fisherman said these guys could really jam on them!

The Fisherman came home with one of these instruments.  A simple one.  I wondered how much it cost.  A musical instrument is a valuable item to me.  Given the cost of living differential, I randomly guessed $60.  He said it cost about $20.  It's so cool and I love it.  I just for the life of me cannot figure out how he got it in his luggage to come home!

Ethiopia

And now for something completely different.

The Fisherman had the opportunity to go on a mission trip to Ethiopia several weeks ago.  He was "fishing for men" this time, to quote Jesus who said to His disciples (that were fishermen by occupation), "Follow Me and I will make you fishers of men."

It was a medical mission trip to a Jewish community in Ethiopia's capitol city of Addis Ababa.  The mission organization he went with is Jewish Voice Ministries International, a Christian mission to the Jewish people.  The Old Testament is replete with prophecies about the Messiah that would come to the Jewish people.  And every one of those over 300 prophecies, down to amazing detail, was fulfilled in Jesus.  Yet, for probably many reasons, the Jews of Jesus' time and today as well have not been able to see or embrace it.  They continue to look for their Messiah when He has already come.  The heart of the Jewish Voice ministry is to reveal their Messiah to them, to show them Jesus (Yeshua).

And it is also their mission to serve suffering Jewish people around the world.  Hence this medical mission in Ethiopia.  Not many people realize that there is a large population of Jews in Ethiopia but there is.

The Fisherman took some great photographs while there.  I will be posting some of them in groups, accompanied by bits of information and stories, to give you a taste of his experience there.  It's possible that I may do multiple posts per day, so don't forget to scroll down to see all posts for the day.

After

When faced with the death of a loved one and the necessary distraction of planning the funeral and taking care of things, one tends to shove aside the looming grief in order to function.  Later...I'll let the weight of my sadness hit me later. But right now I have to get things done. 

I had this mindset in the days after Dad's death.  "After" was my subconscious mental word.  After the service, then it will hit me.  After all this planning, then I'll have to face the real grief.  After... then I'll have the time to deal with it.  After.

When the memorial service was over and all Dad's memorabilia and photos were packed up, we went to Paul's home for lunch together.  Then it was back to Dave's where I was staying.  I found that I didn't want to change out of my dress.  Let me tell you, I never wear dresses.  I'm not all that comfortable in them and much prefer jeans or shorts.

But, there I was in this little black dress, and I didn't want to get out of it.  I was keenly aware of what was going on inside of me. I didn't want to change into my shorts yet - my everyday, ordinary, back-to-normal shorts.  

I wasn't ready to "go back to normal" and it was strongly symbolized by my clothes.  I didn't want the "all-about-Dad" to end.  My black dress was the symbol of that mark in time.  The "all-about-Dad" emphasis kept me close to him, and I didn't want to let go.  I found it very interesting and decided to just roll with it until I was ready. So I stayed in my dress for awhile longer.

I also recognized that that little black dress symbolized the marking of a specific point in time when the "after" would begin.  I wasn't ready for After yet.  I was a little afraid of After, knowing I had shoved a big weight of grief onto it.  I wasn't ready to welcome that weight by officially beginning my After.

Eventually, I was ready.  Things seemed comfortable and the funeral seemed past enough that I went into my room to read my book for awhile before dinner.  I changed into my shorts and tee shirt and all was fine.  I was ready.   I was really glad I was aware of what was going on inside of me.  And glad I didn't push myself or do what seemed unnatural at the moment.  I'm glad I stayed in my black dress a little while longer, until it came naturally to change.

And the After?  Well, it didn't fall on me like a ton of bricks.  In fact, I sort of realized that After had a new date for me.  I knew I wouldn't really freely grieve until I went home, where I could be alone in the quiet woods.  Now that I am home, I have cried freely as it has come.  My real grieving has begun.  It feels like deja vu, a repeat of last summer.  I never guessed I would be spending another quiet summer in the woods in the company of fresh grief, but here I am.

It Was A Beautiful Service

So, now...about the service, taken mostly from my journal that night....


It was a beautiful memorial service. The flowers were beautiful. We did a nice job of it with the memorabilia tables and photo boards. The honor guard was so, so beautiful and moving.

First the chaplain entered and came up to the front where we had on the table the main flower arrangement, Dad's Navy dress portrait which I matted and framed, and his urn (brushed silver metal with the Navy insignia on the side and engraved underneath) and a beautiful red rose in a bud vase (from Baby Hannah, his great-grandchild). The chaplain bowed to Dad's urn and then took a seat behind the lectern.

Then the Navy personnel entered, silently and slowly making their way down the aisle to the front where they solemnly saluted Dad's ashes. There were the two flag soldiers (a man and a woman) and a Captain - a very special deal I was told. Paul (my brother) said he was a Chaplain because he had crosses on his shoulder bars.

Then the side door to the courtyard was opened and we could hear the Air Force rifle guard getting into position. Those of us in the front two family rows could see our the door and watch as they gave Dad a nine gun salute, firing three volleys of three rifles. Then a soldier played Taps. All of it got me and I could not hold back from crying off and on throughout.

Then the soldiers inside took the flag which was folded and resting against the urn. They ceremonially unfolded it and with a snap held it out horizontal to the ground by all four corners. With great precision and formality they then refolded it and presented it to the Captain, who gave a long salute staring directly into the face of the female soldier holding it out for him. He took the flag and then she gave a long slow salute in return. He then walked over to me and presented the flag to me, speaking words of commemoration and honor about Dad's service, thanking him for that service on behalf of the President and the military, and thanking us as well. Then he handed me a little pouch with three of the rifle shells from the gun salute. Wow.

They would have given it to Becky (Dad's wife) but she didn't make it to the service. I am sad for her, knowing the emotions of the event were too much for her - as well as the physical. (She went into the Emergency Room herself just hours before Dad did and was in a surgical procedure under anaesthesia when Dad passed away.) My feelings are mixed about her absence but part of me knew all along it was a very real possibility. Paul and Dave (brothers) elected to have me receive the flag in her stead.

Dad would have loved to have seen it all, pleased that it was done for him.  My brother, Dave, mentioned this in his talk.  While Dad had clearly said to all of us that he didn't want people hovering over his body at a funeral and didn't want all the fuss of everyone gathering around crying and sad...we know, too, that he would have been fairly "tickled" at the military honors and being remembered so lovingly by we who spoke and those who came.

Then the chaplain gave his talk. He was not at all what I ever imagined he would be. He was elderly and spoke unbiblical platitudes about every person being a child of God and welcomed by Him into the heavenly afterlife. And all in one of those sing-songy manners of voice. I almost giggled at how ridiculous he sounded and I was fairly amazed at the syrupy untruths he spoke about everyone being received into heaven. Dad probably would have quietly disliked such a "sermon" if only for the fluffy manner of presentation.

At last it was our turn to speak. Dave spoke first. He talked comfortably and engagingly about Dad's personality, tremendous skills, his love of new adventures, and his rare but wonderful bedside manner with his patients. He relayed that the night before a surgery, Dad could always be found sitting right on the patient's bed explaining and drawing out exactly what was wrong with them and what he was going to do the next day in surgery to fix it - putting all fears aside in his patient.

Paul shared some personal memories of times with Dad. The memories were so special, I loved it. About skiing together - first at Crystal Mountain and then at all the great places out west. He shared about one special day in Snowmass where they rode multiple chair lifts for over an hour all the way to the top. Then they skied just the top over and over until Dad said they ought to do the whole run top to bottom at least once. So they did. An hour's ride to the top and a 15 minute run to the bottom. They were exhausted when they finished but so satisfied. Paul said he has often looked back and thought if he could live any days over in his life, that would be one of them.

He shared about when Dad had his ear surgery and took a year's leave of absence. He bought a pool table and he and Paul spent hours playing pool into the night. He said they both got pretty good. Later in life, they played golf together, noting that they weren't very good either of them. And how Dad always used yellow balls (we had one on the memorabilia table). He related how one time Dad hit a beautiful shot, straight and soaring...but headed right for a shaggy overgrown palm tree. The ball hit the thick skirting of dead palm fronds and completely disappeared. From their distant position they saw this ball drop down out of the tree. When they got there, it was a white ball! Not Dad's ball at all! What are the odds?!

Then he talked about when he got his first medical job as an orderly at Phoenix General Hospital and how everyone came up to him and told him how much they liked and respected Dad.  Doctors, nurses, and even the housekeeping staff! WOW!

Then it was my turn. I had a brief intro, listing three words to describe Dad: friendly, interesting, and excellence. Then I read my Thank You Dad piece I'd given him on Father's Day several years ago. When I got to the line thanking Dad for walking me down the aisle I stopped, cried, and then looked up to address Kira (my step-sister) saying I'm so sorry she won't get to experience that. She had been crying at the thought anyway, but when I said that to her she broke down even more.

At the end I explained about Becky not being able to be there, being not well herself and having recently been in the hospital, too. I didn't have any of it written down so it didn't come out like I would have preferred but I said that they had been married 17 years, that Dad loved her and spent the last 17 years of his life with her, enjoying things together, reading, watching movies and that they loved each other and took care of each other.

A couple of minutes later, the service was over and we were all being greeted by many people. My friends were there, Sherri, Lori, Cindy and Buzz, and Pam. Former partners of Dad's, colleagues in medicine, names I have long known. Friends of my brothers came. Friends of my nieces and nephews. My brother-in-law came. Old family friends came. And patients came.

But the one that got me the most was when I saw Pam. I just lost it and tears came when I saw her and hugged her. My friend since 2nd Grade. My ski trip buddy on trips with Dad. It was so special that she was there. We don't often see each other, or even talk with each other often these days, but our bond is strong and when we get together, it is as if only a heartbeat of time has passed.  It was so special that she was there.

I took photos of the memorabilia tables, Dad's uniform, flight suit, Navy dress hat, the flowers and such.  And I am so sad to report that in a blindly foolish moment while attempting to upload them to my computer, I lost them all.  I'd been warned about removing memory cards and disconnecting card readers too soon...and now I will never forget or in a sudden and non-thinking moment do it again.