The fundamentalist might accuse this place
of heresy, of competing with Heaven’s beauty. The more secular man might think this place a hallucination, as reason to get examined at the nearest
hospital. Luckily, my spiritual-happy-medium allows me to appreciate this place
for what it is: divine yet tangible. A Garden of Eden
without the exclusivity.
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Hawassa, by Nastasia |
The capital of Ethiopia’s
Southern Nations, Nationalities, and People's Region, Hawassa deserves all my
obnoxiously poetic language and more. Here, mountains of fertile volcanic soil
fade into thick clouds, indigo lakes are mirrored by the skies above. When you
understand how damp and rainy it is in Addis
Ababa—the capital city where I live and work—you’ll
give my enthusiasm a pass.
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Hawassa (formerly Awassa), by me |
The opportunity to travel to Hawassa came courtesy of my
newest flatmate, James.(James asked to be called Jay at the end of his first
week here, but I’d already developed a habit. Even relatively new habits die hard with me). James had to check
out one of our sub-offices as part of his job, so he brought along Nastasia (the
other flatmate) and I for company. We came up with a detailed itinerary for
Hawassa, but we count ourselves blessed for completely abandoning it.
Sitting at breakfast with the other members of the Addis
trio on our first morning in the Haile Gebre-Selassie resort, I was approached
by a foreigner. The tall, gray haired thirty something pointed to my chest.
“You went to Northwestern?” he asked. Or maybe it was, "You go to Northwestern?" Regardless, the question did not surprise me.
Noticing other Americans at the hotel the previous evening, I had put on a
Northwestern sweatshirt in hopes of gaining a new friend. I still count this as
a chance encounter; it’s just that the chance was slightly calculated.
Paul, an alum and professor at the Northwestern law school,
exuded super human energy as he explained the work that had brought him to Southern Ethiopia. When he’s not wearing the hat of
youngest person ever invited to lecture at the Northwestern
University Law
School, or of practicing-international
business lawyer, Paul is in Ethiopia
running the Awassa Children’s Project. This hybrid orphanage-youth
center-vocational training institute has been voted Ethiopia’s best NGO by both the
federal and regional governments. As Paul enthusiastically touted the successes
of his center, my mind went in two directions: either this man is exaggerating
out of insecurity, or he has created something truly amazing. When he invited
us to the center, our curiosity would not allow us to refuse.
Though nestled in the shadow of the Tabor
Mountain, the Awassa Children’s
Project is not overshadowed by the Tabor Mountain:
I’ve never seen anything like this place. Giving us a thorough tour, our host
delivered the rundown on his project; The center is non-adoptive, though it
works hard to foster a sense of family among children, staff and volunteers;
The center provides vocational training to children who want it, but makes sure
that all are given the opportunity to attend college if they so choose; The
center eschews institutionalization, fostering integration by requiring
children to attend schools in the community; The center fights HIV/AIDS stigma
through theater, just one of many ways that all children are made to feel
welcome; The center is environmentally sustainable, running on solar energy and
growing much of its own food. The children and staff of the Awassa Children’s
Project seemed extremely happy. Almost unbelievably so. As I said to Paul, I’d
think this place were a cult if not for a policy of secularization
(children are encouraged to follow the religion of their families). Regardless,
I certainly drank the Kool-Aid.
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Aww yee I found a swing! |
Mirroring the energy of their beloved Paul, several children
decided to walk us to the top of Tabor Mountain.
It’s hard to explain with words what this experience was like for me: what I
can say is that there is a reason why dozens of people were meditating,
praying, and, presumably, preforming exorcisms on Tabor’s Gethsemane-like summit. It
was exhausting and fulfilling both emotionally and spiritually. It was also
exhausting because the children made me climb a tree, and, struggling to climb
back down, I started to bake in the sun.
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Mt Tabor |
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After about an hour, Paul took James, Nastasia, and I to
meet Daniel, the leader of the Rastas in nearby Shashamane. He moved here from
Jamaica in 1975 at the
age of 26 after spending years helping fellow believers reach Ethiopia,
considered the Promised Land by adherents to the Rasta faith. Since coming to Ethiopia, he’s
raised his children to adulthood, founded and mentored a thriving community of
Jamaican-Ethiopians, and become fluent in both Amharic and “Jamharic”, a
mixture of Patois and Amharic which may or may not be a real thing. Now 63,
many outside of Ethiopia
believed Daniel to be dead before Paul “rediscovered” him about a month ago.
I’m glad he did, because, in line with the novel-theme of the day, Daniel is
like nobody I have ever met. His thin, gray
dreadlocks cover a mind filled with philosophy, history, and an
unparalleled knowledge of Scrabble: when we returned to the hotel, Paul nearly
ripped the place apart for getting bested at the game.
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Jay (in red) plays Scrabble with Danny (center right) wile Nastasia (far right) watches |
Back at the Haile Gebre-Selassie resort, I spent the night
getting to know some of Paul’s friends: donors, partners, and travelers. If the
group were any more eclectic, I’d think that I were stuck in a
cabin-in-the-woods horror movie: a famous advocate of breastfeeding/ humanitarian featured on the cover of Time Magazine, a cowboy with
unparalleled knowledge for agricultural development, a nun with a black belt in Aikaido (specialization in stick and
sword, obviously), an up and coming metal musician, a South African Safari guide. Labels don’t do these
people justice, but they suit the point that I’m trying to communicate: there’s
something really reassuring about knowing that such a diverse range of people
care about the same issues that you do, even (no, especially) when they
approach these issues in a different way.
Returning to Addis, we were lucky enough to host the cowboy,
JD, and the nun, Sister Donna, for the night. Donna gave us a demonstration in
martial arts, and JD schooled us on country music on the ride back. The weekend
ended just as it was meant to: dinner, conversation, time with new friends. JD
and the Sister left early in the morning. I didn’t get to say goodbye. That’s
okay. I’ll visit them again soon. It’s nice to get out of the city.
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Top of Tabor |