Ahhh.... the spice and beauty of living in another culture- If beauty is in the eye of the beholder, then we see the beauty of culture when we look for it to find it, right? The Arsi Oromo way of life: intense and decisively meaningful. Today we celebrated beginnings and an end.
Ganamo's wife had a baby about a month ago, and I wanted to visit- pay my celebratory respects. Ganamo is a great guy- an amazing Christian man working in our clinic that I think will have a hand in changing his community. We drove across beautiful green fields (it has been raining so much at night!) and had a great visit at his house- they were obviously well prepared for us, and served us lunch (!!) and coffee right away. Ganamo is determined and stubborn in his hospitality- no matter how new the visitor or how regular, each person is getting a plate of food. He instructs his kids sternly to refill our plates in timely manners. And the newborn baby is bright eyed, fat, and full of life.
Then we heard, Fayissa's mother died this morning in Awassa, so we visited the funeral on the way home. Its about four o'clock now, the sun stretches the shadows... they brought her body back to Langano and we passed a group of men finishing the burial at the cemetary on the way to his father's compound. There was a large crowd gathered- it is the first day, so most people show up then. We are seated in the women's area. It is understandable that an older woman would become sick and die. What is hard to accept is what lengths- financially crushing lengths for people with limited assets- her family has gone to get her good medical care, only to loose her. "They have finished everything they have for her" the staff tell me.
Because she was a believer, we are encouraged to share a message of gospel hope with the women-crowd. Kim stood up and did an amazing job of it- giving everyone the hope beyond death that the gospel offers. Ganamo translated.
I see my friends in the crowd. Can I say hi to these ladies? Can I get out of my chair and move around a little? How much do I need to look sad? I'm trying to catch Adanech's eye and take her cultural cues.
We are then ushured into a tent and served food- gunfo porridge that seems to be so common in our visits these days. I feel bad- the son of the woman who died is serving us, shouldn't he be sitting? Being consoled? He seems worried that there aren't enough plates to go around for all these visitors from SIM. Does he realized the Americans don't mind not eating? Doesn't he know this food is so unfamiliar and strange to them? Their sense of hospitality overrules any such sensitivity, and he demands that our plates are refilled and refilled. The interplay between servers, guests, Ethiopians, Americans, village types and city folk always fascinates me.
I see lots of faces coming in and out of the tent that I know- this is the heart of Dawe community, with all the village leaders present, many of our own staff, women I know, etc. It makes me happy to be right in the middle of them. They support each other well, and I want to be part of that system.
