Meet my Neighbors: Part I

23 July 2013

This morning, like most, my neighbor Marie, age 3, is crying.

It is 9am and her beloved sister Nani left for school 45 minutes ago. Marie adores her sister and cries when she goes to school every morning & when she leaves after lunch in the afternoon. “My Nani!!!” She wails as if her sister has been taken away never to be seen again. In fact Nani will return home in a few hours, as she does every day. Marie does not seem to notice or find comfort in this pattern.

Nani is very fashionable. Her shoes
 are wearing sunglasses and wings. 

To be fair Marie’s sister Nani is pretty great. She’s a charismatic leader and natural attention hog.

Nani is adorable. Unlike most kids in my town, Nani’s parents keep her clean and well dressed. Frequently she gets her hair done at the salon; weave is braided into her baby hair making it longer with large bouncy curls. It’s sort of an absurd effort since Nani is only 5 years old, but at 5 I was sporting a bowl cut so what do I know.

Several times I’ve caught Nani standing on an overturned carton singing like a pop music sensation to a small audience of neighborhood babies under her age. They children stand mesmerized as Nani shakes her finger and hits all the wrong notes. I blame these kids’ young age for their impressionability, but as I attempt to be discrete peering through the wooden fence I find myself just as guilty for enjoying her performance.

       Every time I go outside Nani and Marie call out “B” repeatedly to

Nani peeking through the fence.

catch my attention as they sit behind the rickety scrap wood that constitutes the fence between our homes. I say “hello”, wave and look their way, but the girls persist as they started without acknowledging I’ve responded at all. “B, B, B, B” It’s a sweet sentiment but after nearly 2 years I’m short on patience. For all their bravado I find it surprising that outside of their home compound neither of the girls will talk to me. I see them at the neighbors’ get-togethers, at the market, in the street or at school and they are both too shy to utter anything or even make eye contact.  All the other neighborhood kids give me hugs and fist bumps when I am in the street except these two.

Badee

23 September 2013

Loomi disappeared 3 months ago. For a few days I was out of town and when I returned to my compound my stomach told me something had happened in my absence. Everyone was normal, quiet and calm, but Loomii didn’t appear at my window or at the spicket to fetch water. I was afraid to know the truth, so I gave it a day of denial before I began inquiring. I went back to her house and called her name, nothing. I found other people on my compound and ask what happened. Their Amharic was dumbed down for me as it was explained “she’s gone, but she will return.” Why?! I couldn’t get the information I needed to understand the severity of the situation. Where did Loomii go and why? Later that morning one of my English speaking neighbors came home so I began to interrogate him. To my horror I had learned that there was an incident which resulted in Loomii being returned to her family nearly 150km away.

It took a long time and different narratives to piece together enough details to construct a coherent story. Many people tried to protect me by not telling me the upsetting truth. They told me bits and pieces, but spent more time assuring me that it was okay and she would return. Ethiopian’s don’t like to upset or distress others. They keep a constant calm demeanor of happiness from morning to evening (unless they are in a bus station, then all bets are off). As a foreigner, they are very unnerved by my emotional side and avoid instigating it at all costs. Not because I’m a sociopath, but because they don’t understand people being emotional outside of wailing at a funeral or fighting for a seat on a bus.

The story goes loosely like this: Loomii’s uncle, her primary care taker, is Muslim, but everyone else she interacts with in Adaba is Christian, either Orthodox or Protestant. She has Christian leanings because she isn’t exposed to much else on a daily basis. In Ethiopia however, to stray from your assigned faith is an enormous act of treason. At 9 years old Loomii doesn’t understand this, she just wants to be normal and enjoy as her peers do. One afternoon Loomii snuck off to the church with her school friend. She didn’t ask for permission or tell anyone that she was leaving. She returned to her irate and belligerent uncle who beat her and took her back to her parents the following day as punishment.

Loomii’s parents live in a remote village outside of a very rural town. There is not a school within a reasonable walking distance from their home; there are not enough basic resources for them to support her. Despite this level of insecurity, her family continues to grow; she is the second oldest of 4 and more siblings are likely to come. Loomii was returned to her family and they sent her oldest brother (11 years) and 2^nd youngest brother (4 years) to Adaba to replace Loomii. Loomii’s older brother took her place cooking and cleaning for their uncle in Adaba while the youngest spent his days in a homesick-induced daze.

I approached many people to help me resolve this issue of Loomii’s exile and her unreasonable uncle. It all seemed like an over-produced Disney movie script without the assurance of a fairy godmother or a magical prince to remove her violent uncle. Everyone sympathized with my distress. They agreed that Loomii’s uncle had disturbing behavior but his age classified him as an elder, meaning he is to be respected and left unchallenged by all who are younger. If I were to approach him it could make things worse for Loomii if/when she returned. I spoke to my landlord who permits her uncle to live on his land and who has known him for 30+ years. He agreed to speak with her uncle and demand that Loomii return. So I waited, unable to do more than sit on my hands and keep quiet. Every week I was told she would return in 2 weeks, until one day I was told she would arrive the following day.

For selfish reasons I wanted Loomii back in Adaba. She has many friends who look over her here, she has enough to eat, a good school to attend and she seems happy most of the time. Her uncle is dangerous but she seems capable at delicately walking on eggshells and avoiding trouble. In her home village she can’t go to school, she doesn’t get enough to eat and I worry that she is more vulnerable to harmful cultural practices (FGM, abduction, early marriage, or painful body modifications). Both options are risky, but at least she has options. Loomii’s story doesn’t instigate much sympathy or label her as unusual among Ethiopians. Most kids are disciplined by physical violence at home and at school, many are separated from their families who cannot provide for them, many are kept out of school to work and support their families at a young age. Surprisingly Loomii, compared to some of her peers, has many privileges.

Loomii did return to Adaba. My neighbors told me of her arrival one rainy afternoon as I arrived home. Elated, I ran to her house, slipping through the mud calling her name eagerly. She came to the doorway with a quiet smile, apprehensive to step out in the rain and mud. I picked her up and hugged her as we became drenched in rain and sentiment. Loomii was a bit embarrassed by my enthusiastic display as her uncle had visitors who sat starring at us. To avoid causing any trouble for her, I set her down and asked her to come to my house later that day. When she arrived later we celebrated by playing games with Joe and my friend Ibse and went out on the town with her school director for dinner and coffee. I seemed more shaken by it all than she was. She seemed normal, albeit a little taller, thinner and with newly pierced ears. She told me stories about her family and seemed un-traumatized by the summer’s events.

Through this many people have told me that I should adopt Loomi, an option I have given much consideration to. They reminded me that I seemed to be concerned for her more than anyone else and I’m a privileged American who can provide for her easily in my country, why don’t I take her? While this may be true I have some questions that no one here can seem to answer: WHY am I the one who cares about her more than anyone else, though I’ve known her for less time and can communicate with her the least? WHY is it culturally uncommon for Ethiopians to adopt children outside their family, but encouraged for foreigners who cannot adequately speak or understand the child’s native culture or language? Why do I feel more guilt and responsibility for this young girl than those who have known her longer and more intimately than I? I suppose the only answer to these questions is “cultural values and differences”.

It may afflict me the rest of my life but I do not plan on adopting Loomii. As someone who is still financially depend on her own family, I am not prepared to accept responsibility for a minor nor am I in the position to pay tens of thousands of dollars to complete a successful adoption. I’ve lived in Ethiopia for 2 years, and understand not everything but enough to know that Loomii’s situation is manageable. She’s doing well in school, she’s accustomed to her own culture and meets friends who love and look after her everywhere she goes. I cannot protect Loomii from everything or ensure that she has all of her needs met, but I believe that she is in the position to grow up and do well for herself. While I have lived here I have tried to take actions to improve her situation and feel confident that she is generally happy and will continue her education at least until 8^th grade. This is more than most Ethiopian children can hope for.

I also realize that like many experiences I’ve had in Ethiopia, none of this seems like reasonable logic to my acquaintances in the United States. I’ve run out of excuses to mask the complacency and helplessness I feel for Ethiopia’s disturbing customs. I’ve run out of the naivete that everything will work out well in the end.