Okay, I’m doing it, I’m sitting here and typing. I don’t have any real reason as to why it’s been so difficult this time. It’s not like things here are falling apart (at all!). I just haven’t had the pull to write. One thing I can think of is that the boys are getting older, and growing into such different individuals, so so very different from each other (duh), and that my mind is kind of on overload the whole time I’m here. The first few years they had this sort of collective hive mind. You remember hearing about those wonderful evenings where someone would get mad at me and then the whole house would start the silent treatment. But they’ve started to lose that. They each have such individual moods, and days, and reactions, and goals, that it’s a lot to keep track of. And I know, this sounds so obvious, like, six humans have six different personalities?! But it is a newish development. And building on that, it starts to feel a bit more intrusive to blog out our lives (though I understand that no one is expecting our deepest darkest secrets). Anyways, after all this, I’m usually out cold by 9:30. But tonight this is happening, no matter what. I’m even so dedicated that I closed my ‘door’ (I built a beautiful room in a closet), opened a TINY bottle of local gin, and put in earplugs so as not to be distracted. Of course, Henok immediately opened said door, took one sniff of the air, looked me dead in the eyes as if I was the worst thing to walk the earth and said… “You’re drinking, I know”. I tried to tell him as he walked away that I’m almost thirty, and, believe it or not, am allowed to have a drink, and am in no way hiding it. But he was already gone. At least this means that they’re still innocent angels when it comes to any of the ‘normal’ late teen vices.
So going back to the beginning, or actually a little further… I tried to move back to America for the first time in eleven years. That didn’t work out. I apologize for the lack of communication but it was a difficult time for me. Before I left though, we had our first annual fundraiser! It was a really wonderful evening. At the end of the day, it wasn’t the largest turn out on earth, but once I got over that temporary embarrassment, I kind of preferred it that way. It all seemed super appropriate to OEH. So much of the evening was donated by superb people/organizations that support us, and everyone that attended became part of our little family. We ate great food, drank nice wines, chatted, and had a cozy evening (Side note: google the word gezelligheid for a better description). If anyone reading this was able to come, I want to say a huge thank you again for creating such a perfect event.
Then, two days later, I got on a plane back to Addis.
Coming to Addis this time was strange because I was going to an apartment I’ve never been in. I’ve mentioned it before (though won’t hold it against you if you forgot because I haven’t written in a while), that the owner of our last apartment finally sold it. She had been talking about it for quite a while, and it’s kind of my fault for not taking her more seriously. Everyone keeps asking why I didn’t buy the apartment and I’ve given up making the joke about wanting to spend my imaginary $60,000 dollars elsewhere. But it was such a great place, even with all its faults. And there were many. I HATE to say that because I loved that apartment with every fiber of my being. I’ve lived in a ridiculous amount of flats in my life and that one felt more like home than any of them. I miss the view of trees. It was one of the few places in Addis where there was so much green! I miss the notch in the wall where I could lay in bed with my leg propped up and listen to the hyenas at night. I miss our living room which was painted this aggressive yellow that everyone hated but me. I miss all of our Christmases we had there and so many more memories than I could possibly write about. And I was naive. I thought no one would buy it because, by Ethiopian, or really any standards, it wasn’t great. It was on the top floor (a massive perk for me but not loved here), our toilet never worked, the roof leaked, and by the end, we had one functioning outlet in the house. But those things were so easy to not care about because of the perks. Mainly, our neighbors loved us, and we loved them. The compound was small and so welcoming to the unintended mess we brought in. They defended me when I did something white and dumb. They laughed when I made the boys hang their laundry downstairs. They forced so many drinks on me at every holiday. We spent funerals together and we celebrated graduations. It was really, really hard to leave that house. And it was even harder to hear how much our neighbors hated us leaving. There are laws about owners selling apartments and without getting too much into it they weren’t exactly followed this time. I wish I could have been there (to do nothing except rally my Ethiopian friends) but what’s done is done. The boys did what they could, and in the process made some rash choices, but I’m still happy they had to deal with the situation alone. And it wasn’t easy. Asking for help is a hard lesson to learn, and I hope that they did. Regardless, even if things had gone 100% our way we could have only delayed the move by a month or two. It was VERY hard for me not to be directly involved but the entire point of this program is for them to be independent so this was a great, albeit rough, milestone. I want to not hate the new owner but it’s hard, and I take great solace in the fact that our neighbors gave him a terrible welcome due to how he treated the boys. And I was biter. Even more so because my reception at the new compound was less than welcoming. And to be honest it’s again, not worth getting into. Things in Addis have changed, and I can’t blame the housing committee for questioning why this random white guy was suddenly living there. I think the whole situation could have gone down much smoother, but I was the uninvited person who appeared in their apartment building and I was on this naive high from our last house. They had every right to ask for a copy of my visa, and once I sat down and talked with them about it they were as warm and welcoming as Ethiopians always are. And our house is FANCY now. We have kitchen cabinets! Our toilet flushes, the outlet’s work, there are no cockroaches, and we’re on the corner so there is so much light. I still miss our old place, and the rent is difficult, but at least it’s a beautiful flat.
Still, Addis is changing, and it’s not for the good or bad. It’s just growing and things are becoming more regulated, and with the elections coming up people are just checking in on stuff. I think I really need to remember the rose-colored glasses because as much as our neighbors cried (literally) when we left our last house, they also took some time to warm up. And after a month everyone in our new building is very nice. I just miss our trees, and our souk, and the little things. And oh how I miss paying half the rent for the same size apartment. Granted we are more central, and this is just the price now. With growth comes a ‘set’ rent price. To bad that price is double. Little side story, whenever new people talk in Addis it’s almost always about rent prices. And I was laughing with my friends because it’s just the go-to conversation right now. It’s like how Americans always bring up the weather, but this is a bit more genuine. It’s just funny because everyone has the same opinion but it feels great to vent. And it blows my mind! I know people living in compounds, they have like a six-bedroom house with gardens and guest rooms and all those posh things. And since they have this informal rent control they pay maybe one hundred dollars more than we do for a two-bedroom apartment. Addis is in this weird place of growth right now that’s wonderful and awful at the same time. Crime has gone up (granted its gone up from almost zero!) because people like us can luckily ‘afford’ these drastic hikes that a lot of people can’t. I can’t imagine any other family here having their rent doubled. For the most part, no one’s salary is going up. The reality is that people are moving far from the center. But when I say far I mean like an hour from where we are. And when you factor in the transport cost for six people, it wouldn’t be a huge saving unless I completely uprooted everyone’s lives.
Okay, so I’ve just now finished the recap.. somewhat? Where to next? Well, international adoption hasn’t been allowed in Ethiopia for a while now. This is a much bigger discussion than I can get into in a blog but I will say that while I understand the intention, I don’t think it addresses the reality. I only bring it up because Kidane (the orphanage) has changed. And there are so many things I want to say but the simplest is that Kidane needs volunteers. I don’t wanna fight about voluntourism but it just needs ENERGY. Sister Lutgarda is easily the number one person I respect in my life and she’ll be as honest as anyone that things are different, and not always in the best of ways. What I will say is that adoption is a large topic and unfortunately the negative aspects were addressed without any intention to solve them and/or create an alternative (Yet? I hope..). If you want to help out at Kidane please send me your CV/resume.
I guess you’re reading now like, why haven’t you talked about the boys yet? Ugh, do I need to call them young men? Or men? I just want to be clear that every time I say boys, I know they’re grown up now, but I still see them as kids. And every time I say ‘my’ boys or ‘our’ kids, I hope it doesn’t come across as awful and possessive, they are just family and those words seem appropriate. Anyways, they’re still wonderful and terrible. I will never understand how they can consider a kitchen clean the way they do, or how they can literally say ‘I just need a break from work’ when they have been working for three months. And maybe you’re new to the blog so if this seems mean, how much I want to yell at each of them and throw them out the window, I swear it’s just a reflection of how much I love them with every ounce of my being. I, vaguely, remember feeling the same way as a teen; I still need to post the photo of my first apartment’s kitchen when I was in university. But now that I’m old I have to remember that the difference between seventeen and nineteen isn’t as pronounced as I want it to be. They are doing good. They are doing great. I just have to check my privilege every time I compare myself to them at their age.
That brings me to the whole thing I want to talk about. Which I also don’t want to talk about because I’m trying to do all this with as less of a white savior complex as possible, and not share too much about people’s lives who don’t really consent to each and every word (though they know this blog exists). Maybe this is poor timing but I need to throw this in here. Someone recently asked for a photo of the boys when they donated. This was a first time donor. And while I’m sure their intentions were pure, I want to be very clear, this blog is just me venting. I hope most of you know this but, if you donate, this organization doesn’t owe you anything, the boys don’t owe you anything, and you most certainly don’t buy their photos. Hopefully, you support them because you want them to succeed. And hopefully, I don’t lose half our donors for being so blunt. Apologies, but this is part of the reason I’ve had difficulty writing lately and I needed to be clear.
Anyways (let me just contradict myself), this time in Addis has been hard because I realize I expected too much. And I think I’ve promised to much. Partly because I feel this constant competition from other ‘nonprofits’ who only show happiness. And partly because I’m constantly learning in this role and am naive. I was gone for seven months, which is the longest I’ve ever left Ethiopia and I was dumb to think I was going to come back to a Lifetime movie. If anything the time away, and the growth of the boys, has just made things clearer. Clearer that, first of all, they’re amazing, and secondly that the developmental challenges which come with growing up in an orphanage/institution take a very, very long time to overcome. And I’m not even sure to overcome is the right word. I’ve been reading a lot of criticism about orphanages lately, and that ties into what I didn’t want to get into earlier, but I support Kidane Mehret Children’s Home as a necessity, not as a goal. I think the women in charge have dedicated their lives to these children and are doing everything they can to help them. That does not mean things are perfect. The longer I spend with my boys, and other people who’ve left orphanages, I learn just how stunted parts of their development were. I wish I could say that all we needed to do was teach our boys how to cook and clean (I did say that) and that we’re all finished: they go to school, get a job, and life is peachy. That turning 18 means years of, something, is suddenly erased. But none of that is true. And I’m saying this as much to you as I am to myself: things that seem so incredibly easy to us, in our places of extreme privilege, are not easy for the boys or for anyone else who’s grown up in an institution. And that applies to any place that hasn’t granted agency to the people in its care (This is not a criticism of Kidane directly. It’s so easy to say what a place should do without understanding what they’re capable of).
So without rambling too much, because believe me I’ve deleted like a page or two of text already, this is what we’re dealing with now. The boys are doing perfectly. The house is great. It’s clean and taken care of. They are going to school. They are doing every single thing that’s being ASKED of them. But that’s it. Not one inch more. And when I came back I was looking at this only through my personal lens, and I was furious. And more so I was scared. I felt like I was failing them, and you, and everyone. But I’ve talked with a lot of people and I’ve been trying to further understand the tiniest bit more about this massive hurdle. I do want to mention that none of this is news to me, I was just dumb as can be about how long it would take to get past. Anyways, we’ve been talking. We’ve been talking more than ever and our talks are different. I feel like I’m facilitating the discussions more than leading them now. And oh god I’ve been trying so hard not to yell. For anyone who knows me personally, you know I’m not a ‘yelly’ guy. But the boys pull on emotions I’m not used to and I want to yell out of desperation. I just want them to understand that they are the only ones in control of their own lives. I want them to realize how much of a leg up they have compared to so many people their age. But I know, I KNOOOW, that’s not how these things work.
Here’s an example, something that was really difficult for me (for all of us). One guy cut his hand terribly bad the other day playing football (still not clear how?!). But it was a very, very deep cut. He has HIV, but that’s mostly beside the point, except just how difficult an infection would have been for him. The point though is that he did nothing! I didn’t notice it until a few days later when he couldn’t pick something up and saw that he hadn’t cleaned it at all. He didn’t put Neosporin on it, he didn’t bandage it. Anything. I mean, we have a medical drawer that could survive a zombie apocalypse and he didn’t even open it. I was so confused. I felt guilty and angry. After I got the things out and told him what to do, we sat down and talked. It’s not that I was angry at him directly, at all, I was just mind blown (and a little angry at him). How on earth could you not think to take care of yourself? My friend was there (who left Kidane a few years ago), and she was talking to him a bit in Amharic, and gradually the other boys came home joined in. And then, the boy who had cut his hand tried to explain why he didn’t think to clean it. He gave this comparison to a sheep. He was explaining how this sheep, since the day he was born had a half meter leash around his neck, and that he spent his entire life with that leash on. Then one day his owner cut the leash but he stayed where he was. And that for the entire rest of his life the sheep never moved from his owner’s side because it didn’t even cross his mind that it was possible. And our guy said that he knows it’s stupid but that that’s how he feels. When I had asked him why he didn’t clean his hand, he was scared how dumb his answer would sound, but he genuinely just didn’t think about it. Now, I took a deep breath and resisted shouting that I’ve been saying this for three years, because that would be selfish and useless (but of course it crossed my mind). I was just so shocked. Shocked to see the realization on his face, and so insanely proud to see this self-awareness that most adults everywhere lack. I told him a million times that nothing about what he said was dumb, and that he was so incredibly mature to be able to realize those things. And then we talked and talked (and I listened) about the steps they can make to take control of their futures.
So this is just a small example of what we’re dealing with. Agency, accountability, and control. Like I said, each guy is so very different (again, duh). And they each have their own things they need to work on. But I can’t applaud them enough for starting to understand what those things are. Because it’s a lot more then I can say for the other people I know with similar upbringings, and it’s a lot more then I can say for most adults I know. I want to tell you that everything is great. I want to say that on January 1st, 2022, everyone will have a job and we won’t need a dime of support. But I can’t make that promise. These young men are on their own journey, and all we can do is stand by and try to guide them as they grow. I’ve found Ethiopian counselors for the ones who might need it, and who want it. And we will continue to face each and every hurdle as they come. Please try and remember though, like I have to each day, that these boys were placed between so many different worlds and cultures and we can only support them in something we can’t personally understand (we’ve talked about the orphanage bubble here in the past). I can’t compare my experiences to them at nineteen, as easy as that might be. They are fighting an unglamorous battle and I want to be honest about that. Achievement isn’t just a Nobel Peace Prize nomination. It’s also learning and growing and just continuing each day. These young men are real people, facing real problems at the pace that is right for them. And we are trucking along wonderfully, I do promise you that.
Before I go… when I just brushed over them doing to ‘bare minimum’, to be clear the bare minimum is still amazing. They run a household all on their own. They cook the most delicious food. They get up each day by themselves. They go out into a world that’s still new to them. They make friends, and they impress people. They’re artists and comedians. They have dreams, and they are wonderful, respectful, engaging, intelligent human beings.
And furthermore, l swear I’ll write a funny story soon that won’t be five pages…