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 2nd
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 8th 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.
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