All Work and No Play...

Seedlings of Hope

Yonas

Yonas is a 4-year-old from Hurso. He is in kindergarten and wants to be a doctor when he grows up. He likes football, but after his inaugural ride around the compound, he determined that his favorite thing to do was ride motorcycles. He is usually found amidst the mass of groupies who trail us, at intervals, everywhere we go in Hurso.

Future Medical Clinic

In a few weeks, we are going to do a one day medical clinic in Hurso. This medical clinic will not only help the people of Hurso with their current physical ailments, but it will also provide us with an assessment of the illnesses and diseases common to the village so that we can steer our health education curriculum towards meeting those needs. This clinic will also establish a basic understanding of how healthy Hurso is, so that we can quantify the progress of TCD in the village over the next few years.
In preparation for this clinic, Peter and I have been attending clinics in and around Dire Dawa in order to learn the ropes a bit and get a better idea of what we’ll need for the Hurso clinic. It has been interesting and enlightening. We’ve gotten the chance to assist the lab technician and help out with crowd control. I’ve learned to demonstrate the proper application technique of anti-hemorrhoid cream to Somalis without speaking a lick of Somali.
The poorest and sickest people in Dire Dawa come to these clinics because the medical services and medicine itself is provided free of charge by another the NGO our friends work for. We see cases that bring a smile to your face and others that bring tears to your eyes. A few weeks ago a woman was rolled into the clinic in a broken wheelbarrow. I won’t log a full account of her illness so as to save our squeamish audience, of which I am the chairman, undue queasiness. Her leg was gangrenous to the bone and our doctors thought she would, at best, lose the whole leg, but more than likely succumb to her infection. They drained abscess weekly and gave her antibiotics. Slowly but surely, her leg healed. It has been truly miraculous. This past Thursday, she walked in with only a slight limp and a smile on her face.
Also last Thursday, we had an 80 year-old woman come the clinic. Lee, an American who speaks Somali, asked her where she was hurting. She looked at up at him from her hunched position, squinted, puckered out her bottom lip, tilted her head to one side, shrugged her shoulders, and, in one emphatic gesture, flipped both of her hands out and up to heaven to signify that she hurt everywhere. It was the cutest and most pitiful thing I have ever seen. We gave her a couple hundred milligrams of Ibuprofen and a tall glass of water. After of hauling more than 50 kilograms firewood on her back for more than 20 kilometers every day for more than 40 years, I am surprised she can walk at all. I think she just wanted to tell somebody she was tired and a little sore more than she wanted anyone to attempt to ease the load; she’s a tough lady and well accustomed to carrying burdens alone. Having someone to talk to did more for her than the medicine ever will.

So What Do We Do All Day?

And They’re Off: TCD on Wheels

As we put road between us and Addis in a mini-van packed with two dirt-bikes, their proud owners, and a fascinating Ethiopian driver, we could not have predicted the adventure ahead of us. Upon our return, Siggi stated matter-of-factly, “Chinese bikes? You must be sure to check every screw.” A little offended that he share our deep affinity for our new toys, we reluctantly pulled out our wrench set and began tightening what seemed like perfectly taught bolts. The wheels were secure; what else mattered?
The next day, my birthday, we hit the road for the first time. We raced across the desert glad to finally have a desert wind in our hair rather than the high altitude pollution of Addis Ababa. We made it about a kilometer down the road before we hit our first obstacle; donkeys brought us to a grinding halt and tested every ounce of my newly acquired motorcycle accident avoidance skill.
A little further down the only road to Hurso, we ride through the town of Melkacheptu. It is a quaint little village with charming hordes of children who accurately hurl rocks at us from the side streets as we slowly maneuver through the sea of careless pedestrians.
It was in this town, on our inaugural ride, that Peter discovered that, “somewhere back there,” he lost his shifter pedal. He would spend the rest of his ride in 5th gear.
After successfully navigating the labyrinthine maze of Melkacheptu, we found the great open road that leads curvaceously to Hurso. Over hill and dale, across bridges that link bits of landscape not tattered by the erosive torrents of the rainy season, meanwhile yielding to baboons, donkeys, and camels, and dodging dust storms that nearly knock us from our mount, we cautiously made our way to Hurso.
Success! We pull into the school compound a little shaken up, a little sore, and very dusty. After a days work, we headed back to our bikes, Peter focused on 5th gear drive at hand, and I on the task of remaining upright against a mass of foes on this my second time driving a motorcycle . It was then that we realized the screws on my license plate had loosed themselves “somewhere back there.” As Peter tried to get a good roll going to start off in 5th, I discovered, via my immense knowledge of small engine mechanics, that my bike was no longer in possession of a battery. It, like my license plate, had taken flight in the vast expanse between Hurso and home. Time to test out my kick starter! Kick starters are so much more refined anyway. Kick, Kick…Snap. Kick, Kick…Crackle. Kick, Kick…Pop. The kick that started the bike also broke the kick starter. A little more than discouraged, we headed back home at about 15mph, as opposed to the 40mph we averaged on our approach.
We had nearly made it home when I turned to see if Peter was still riding a bike. About 500 meters back, in a scene that would become common place, Peter lay crouching beside his bike. His license plate had nearly fallen off. He rescued it while it hung by one rickety, nut-less bolt. My bike stopped running as I attempted to idle at his side.
A few more forced stops, and we were home; our deflated spirits lasted only until dinner.
The next day, we called our Ethiopian friend Zerihun to pick up some spare parts and a new license plate. He suggested that, on our future trips out to Hurso, we have Alex follow behind on foot with a suitcase to collect all of the parts we lose so he can eventually build his own motorcycle.
In the weeks that have followed, we have tightened more than a few screws, patched and repaired 3 out of 4 tires, and adjusted our headlamps to illuminate the obstacles ahead rather than the night sky above. The tires really were secure.
We have enjoyed our new bikes thoroughly and after working out most of the kinks, they have proved integral to furthering Transformational Community Development in Hurso.

Building Blocks

As you may know, one of the projects that we’ve been working on in the village is a new school for the children of Hurso. In July, a team of volunteers came to lay the foundation for the building, making a good head start on the four room schoolhouse. Unfortunately the walls weren’t finished during the initial phase of construction and when Ian and I arrived there were about 200 blocks missing from an end of the school as well as two of the middle partitions. In order to move forward, we needed to get those blocks laid and the stucco put on. So the beginning of last week we found a contractor named Habtamu and met with him to figure out the details of the project. The next morning we were bumping along the road out to Hurso with all of the materials. As soon as we pulled up we got right to work. After pounding together some rickety looking scaffolds we mixed up a big pile of goo-goo-bah which is the Amharic word for the mud/clay mixture used to lay the hollow blocks. Yes, the word was developed by kids playing with mud pies and it lends itself to songs very well. After a full day of hauling, shoveling, lifting, and goo-goo-bahing we had 190 blocks laid, all three walls completed, and we were ready for the stucco which we finished by lunchtime the following day. As the hours passed different villagers would show up and pitch in, helping carry buckets, keep the masons supplied with blocks, or mix up a fresh batch of stucco cement. I think my favorite part was when Ian and I began sanding down a couple of the metal windows. A couple of kids stuck their heads in the room and when they saw us scrubbing away a small crowd began to gather. Ian and I thought to ourselves, “If Tom Sawyer could do it, why not us?” After building it up a bit and showing them just how cool sanding really was, we passed out sandpaper and stuck two on each windowsill. Soon we had a little party going on, everyone happily sanding away, sticking their heads out the window and yelling to the kids in the next window down. It was really great working alongside our Ethiopian brothers and sisters and seeing all of the sweat pay off. We were under budget by 15% and done in half estimated time- and we managed to finish sanding and painting all of the metal doors and windows! That’s called gittin’ er done!