17 June 2013
Every morning I receive a visitor, a small head of braids
with big brown eyes peeps through my front window “B!” she sends out her
greeting and we run through all of her short English phrases within a minute:
“Good morning Loomii. How are you?”
“Good morning. I
am fine.”
“Would you like a banana?”
“A yellow banana?
Yes!”
I invite her inside my small home, a place that offers
refuge for her, where she can be unseen and not called to work, but instead
spend her time coloring, enjoying books, movies and dance the afternoon away.
She steps out of her broken plastic sandals and embraces me. When I first met
Loomii she didn’t know how to receive a hug. She would run to greet me, her
arms spread wide and as we met and I wrapped myself around her she would stand
there, arms limp against her stiff body, enjoying the affection but unsure of
how to return it. Now she’s a master of hugs which are a fantastic compliment
to her beautiful smile and I get plenty of both each day.
When I moved into my house I noticed Loomii immediately
because she was always fetching water from the spout outside my door. Where did
she live? Who did she live with? Eventually I learned that she lived on my
compound in a small shack out back, but I saw no family that cared for her as
made evident by her perpetually filthy clothes and independence. After
inquiring to the people who share my compound I learned that Loomii moved to
Adaba 3-4 years ago, when she was around 6 or 7 years old. Her parents and
siblings reside in Kokoso, a small village about a 4 hour drive away. She moved
to Adaba to help her old petulant uncle with house chores as he never married
and has no immediately family. For Loomii’s parents, giving her away was
financially a smart decision as they could not afford to send her to school and
provide for her other essential needs. At 6 years old, Loomii moved out of her family’s
home and into a world adult hood.
In Adaba she began going to Catholic school, which offers
free tuition for many students. After school Loomii would come home to help
wash, cook, run errands and clean for people on the compound. An Ethiopian version
of Cinderella. She quickly learned her second language, Amharic, as her mother
tongue Oromiifa, was not spoken by many people she interacted with. She
adapted, matured and made the most of life without her family.
Loomii always intrigued me because she is sweet and
respectful, unlike 95% of rural Ethiopian children. She never begged or
expected much. She never cried or carried herself with anything other than a
smile and patience, yet it seemed that she had every excuse to do otherwise.
For these reasons
and more it didn’t take long for me to fall in love with Loomii.
We started sharing meals together, as it was evident that
she needed the nutrition and calories. She taught me some Amharic and Oromiifa
and I helped her with English. We colored together and I read books to her.
Before much time had passed Loomii was taking warm water baths in my home, I
was washing her clothes and helping her study. In return she would indulge me with short
stemmed flowers she picked on her walk home from school. Through these small
expressions of love Loomii and I have bonded immensely.
It may sound crazy, but I have considered adopting Loomii.
She deserves so much more and I worry that she won’t meet her potential. I
worry that no one in her life will advocate for her and that she may get pulled
out of school early. I worry that she won’t get enough affection, nutrition and
emotional support. I worry that she may never realize how amazing she is and
how bright her future could be. However, compared to many children in Ethiopia,
especially in Adaba, Loomii’s situation is good and I have spent much of my 2
years here trying to help her succeed. I am convinced that pulling her out of
her country, culture, and further away
from her hodge-podge “family” would be more harmful to her spirit.
 |
| Loomii with her cousin Rama (left) and another kid who briefly lived on our compound. |
My recipe for loving Loomii is affection, good food,
attention and compliments. I believe that these things will help Loomii grow up
healthy and happy. Her height is measured monthly against the dingy paint on my
door and quarter inch marks reveal her rapid maturity. We stroll around town,
hand in hand as children approach
wishing to join our parade and Loomii corrects
them by saying in Amharic “Her name is not ‘ferengi’ or ‘china’ don’t be rude”
and we smugly walk away. She stands up for me, and once after I witnessed her
uncle physically attacked her, I had the opportunity to stick up for her too.
We are each others’ alibis.
I transferred Loomii to the best primary school in Adaba. A
private school with small class sizes, the only one where kids attend full day
instead of half, and the teachers stay late to help with extracurricular
activities. Loomii loves her new school and has made a lot of great friends.
For an annual enrollment fee of 100 birr ($6) and a uniform for 250 birr ($15)
Loomii’s education has had a dramatic upgrade. At 9 years old she has just
finished kindergarten; her graduation program is at the end of the June. From
grade 1-8 I will set up a fully funded scholarship so that she can stay in
school and no one will have an excuse to remove her. I’m hoping after 8th
grade, at 17 years old, she will be confident enough to stand up for herself.
To insist that her education is important, that she is important, and she wants to continue to high school.
 |
| Loomii and her best friend Mituu at school. |
When I leave I don’t know how to keep in contact with
Loomii. She’s too young and our communication is too poor for me to tell her
that I will leave, forever, that I want to be in contact with her, but until
she gets a phone or e-mail or understands the post system this will not be
possible. I don’t want her to forget me or to think that I could ever forget
her. I want to make her a photo album of our 2 years together and write a
message for her in the back. Maybe when she’s older and can read English
fluently she will know that that ferengi called “B” was more than just a food
vendor. That crazy white girl adores you and hopes that your life is
fulfilling, full of people who love and respect you, full of mystery that is
welcoming and not daunting, and unlike the hundreds of other people who have
asked me, that YOU, Loomii, do have a sponsor in America if you wish to
immigrate or join University across the Atlantic. Maybe 12 years from now I
will get a long distance phone call in America from a woman named Loomii When I
say “hello” she will greet me brightly, “B!”.
