Real Need

Andy and I can pretty much predict the exact moment when one of our students will quietly pull us aside to ask if we “have moment”. It usually happens about three days into a program. That is the point that the students become comfortable with us and feel compelled to take the opportunity to help an aunt, brother, or grandparent in need. Because the need is so great in Africa, we’ve become accustomed to telling them that they should write down what they need so that we can try our best to get their request into the hands of an organization or person-of-means who might be able to help.

Two days ago, Muluken pulled me aside to ask if we could help his sister. She has malaria and needs an injection. He is a bright, funny, and diligent 19-year-old student. He changed it up, however, when he said that he would do any work we needed him to do in order to get this money for his sister. He needed 100 Birr ($12) for the injection. I told him that he could come in ½ early every day to help us set up so that we could sleep in a bit. He agreed.

Yesterday, we finished the paintings the students have been working on for their films and then walked over to the Pact offices to check email (if possible) and have a Coka (one doesn’t say Coka Cola here because Cola sounds just a bit too much like the slang word for the part of a male that makes him a male). We had just heard that our computers were actually out of customs and in the hands of our contact in Addis. I know I should be more excited here, but until those computers make the 16-hour trip down the dusty and bandit-ridden road from Addis to Gambella, I’m holding my breath. They are supposed to be here Saturday so that we can clean the old files off and have them ready for the students on Monday. (Most of our students are out of school, by the way, because of hardships at home that keep them working and out of the education system.) So, Andy and I walked into a small café and ordered a Coka. I turned around to see Muluken walking by. I yelled Salam to him and he lit up. “You are in my village area! I am so happy to see you! Come meet my Grandmother!” He put his arm around me and proudly showed me off (his professor) as we walked down the dusty road. We came upon a bamboo fence that housed a long wood-and-mud structure and a small, round mud hut. There were two goats, about 25 chickens, three old women, five young women, and two babies. The kitchen was a small dugout in the ground with a pan for making injera and a few broken clay pots scattered about.

Muluken introduced me to his family and showed me around. I had a digital camera on me, so he had great fun taking pictures of everyone and showing them the results. I don’t think any of them had ever seen themselves in a picture before. His grandmother laughed and laughed. He told me she was about 110, but because people don’t often know when they were born, that was as good a guess as any. She is probably around 90 and is a true matriarch. She sits in one spot all day, smoking a gourd pipe and earning about 10 Birr a day ($1) touching people where they ache. She eats bread soaked in water and directs her offspring in everything from child rearing to boiling potatoes.

Muluken shares a small, dark hut with six other people. He has two pairs of clothing. He earns a living by carrying heavy sacks of rice and maize on and off of trucks. His brother will come running and tell him that a truck is going to Obobo. They need help. They run to the truck to fight their way through the other young men who jump onto the truck and push others off. Once they get on, they drive to another city then they make 2 Birr (25 cents) per bag. On a good day, Muluken can carry six bags to make 12 Birr. He brings the money to his grandmother who then decides how to spend the money. Some days they eat, others they buy home necessities. She uses Muluken’s money to keep about 15 people alive.

Muluken wants to go to school. He is a great runner and has tried to get a scholarship. The problem is that he doesn’t eat enough to take in the required calories for running. He is basically stuck. He is doing our program in hopes that he will learn enough computer skills to get into school on that alone. For reasons like Muluken’s dilema, we are quite anxious for the computers to arrive. We have 30 students, all with similar stories, who have come to learn how to use the software. We have five days left. We now spend every day in silent contemplation, willing the computers to get here on time.

Muluken took some amazing video footage of his family this morning. He also took some pictures…if the Internet cooperates with me today, I will post his pictures. One sequence shows his grandmother praying by her bed. He then pans to his young cousins playing in the yard, then to his sister roasting coffee beans on an open fire. Finally, his brother shows up with a huge piece of fish (I think they used some of the money Andy and I gave his grandmother yesterday) to cook for breakfast. It is a beautiful morning ritual.

The students are filming their narratives today. They all cheered when we told them the computers were on the way. I just hope that they actually get here.

Andy and I will take the weekend off to fish with our friend Agwa on the Openo (Baro) River. We’re really hoping that we spend Sunday getting the computers ready for the kids to use on Monday. I know you all will be hoping for the same.

More tomorrow.

Erik