Markus and me

Markus and me

Markus is 10 years old and lives by himself on the streets. His mother died years ago. His father lives in a distant city. He has no one. He survives by shining shoes. He is a mischievious kid-with a ready smile--and I think he is a bit of a rascal--he must be pretty resourceful in order to survive on his own....

We met on the busy streets of Arba Minch. We always draw a crowd especially when driving my bajaj-Tom likes to scare the little kids by motioning to them and encouraging them to come closer to him and then he yells Argghh!! at them. They usually scream but laugh as they run away.  Once he did it to a young boy (Markus) who even though he was startled and jumped- he was a good sport about it. What was funny though was that a few days later as Tom was driving the bajaj down the street Markus jumped out at TOM and yelled Argghh!!  We’ve been friends ever since!

Whenever I drive into town, Markus would find me within minutes. He speaks absolutely no english except “ Yes”.  A typical conversation goes something like this: “Markus how are you today?” Yes. “Markus, can you watch my bajaj today?” Yes. “Markus, can you do brain surgery?” Yes. 

So communication between us  is difficult- it has taken several different people to translate and get what little information I do know out of him.

  So I started asking him to be my guard- my zebunya- while I did my shopping in the market. He loves to sit in the bajaj and feel important- and when I take him with me as I do my errands he never misses an opportunity to shout out at his friends as we pass them on the streets. Sometimes I drive fast and zig zag all over the road and he laughs and laughs. 

One day, I was sitting in a cafe trying to access the internet on my computer. Markus hailed me from the street and gestured he wanted to sit in my bajaj. I gave him the OK and he happily piled his shoe shine kit into the bajaj and took his place as ‘guard’.

I went back to work on the computer. Suddenly I heard a commotion out by the bajaj and saw a man hitting Markus with a stick! A crowd had gathered and I went charging out there shouting to leave him alone! Markus was standing his ground but crying and

I got between him and the man and grabbed my own stick that I keep in the bajaj and told the man that Markus was my zebunya and he was supposed to be there and he should be ashamed of himself hitting a small boy etc...Of course who knows if he understood english but my actions were pretty clear I think! Anyway, Markus was pointing to his bottom and he pulled down his ragged little shorts and I gasped-

there was a jagged gash on his buttock and three crooked stitches. Obviously this had happened a few days ago but the man unknowingly had hit him there with his stick and that was why he was crying so much! I immediately put Markus into the bajaj and took him to the hospital. The doctor told me that the wound was already infected and so he couldn’t stitch the wound up and all we could do was to give him some penicillin and try to keep the wound clean and bandaged. Apparently there had been a fight and someone had cut him with a knife. He had one of his shoeshine buddies try and stitch him up with some coarse thread. Poor little guy......no mother to soothe him or take care of him.

In Ethiopia the clinics and hospitals do not have any medicine on the premises. It is the patients responsibility to go get the medicine at a pharmacy and bring it back to the doctor to administer. So I went to get the penicillin and syringes. The nurse explained to Markus what she was going to do- made more complicated by the fact that his mother language is not Amharic but Gamo ( a different tribe) The government has declared Amharic the national language, but since there are 82 different tribal languages in Ethiopia- it is taking a while before the population has one central language.

Anyway, she gave him a shot of penicillin and told him he would be feeling much better now.

Then, the unthinkable happened! Unknown to anyone, Markus was allergic to penicillin- he started  having a reaction. The nurse recognized what was happening and got him back up on the table and gave him the antidote injection. Meantime, I was holding him down and saying ‘wodeshallo’ (I love you) over and over and praying “Dear God, dont let me have just killed this little boy!”

He recovered and then began a week long course of him going to the clinic every day to have his wound and bandage cleaned and changed. Of course I had to go buy the bandages and bring them to the clinic first. Then he had to take some antibiotic pills every few hours. Well, that posed a problem because he had no pockets to keep his medicine in. He only had one pair of raggedy shorts and a torn tshirt. So off we went to the market to buy him a pair of pants with pockets! His eyes lit up over a pair of jeans and a matching jacket-he pleaded with his big brown eyes and his cute little smile- so how could I say no after all that he had been through? The little rascal grinned and strutted around in his new duds. 

So everyday I would drive to town and check to see if he had gone to the clinic to have the bandage changed. From that time on he started calling me ‘mommy’ and whenever he would catch sight of me he would run up grinning calling me mommy and hug me and kiss me.  I guess I am his mommy now. I dont mind at all.

In fact, it is so hard not to take him home with me, but I know that would not be a good thing for him. For one thing, there is the language barrier- and also if he gets to live in ‘disneyland’  for a while, what happens when we leave someday-and he is forced to go back to the streets? That wouldn’t be fair to him....so I am praying that a particular family I know of here will take him in. They are a wonderful Christian family and Markus needs a mother and father who can speak his language and teach him things- somone who can love him and comfort and encourage him.....so my hopes are leaning in that direction. Already I have orchestrated several ‘chance’ meetings between them and they seem to like each other. Next week we are having dinner at their house to introduce him to where they live. Then we will approach Markus with the idea of him living with them. 

I hope that the idea of belonging to a family will outweigh the freedom he has of being on his own. Maybe it is too late for him to function in a family setting? I hope not...he deserves to be a little boy for a while and let a family take care of him for a change.

Please pray for him and that he will be willing to try this arrangement.

grace through trials.....

I'm not sure how to categorize this post or how to title it. Something happened last week that Tom and I will never forget. Wednesday morning, a farenji (foreigner) friend of ours phoned Tom sobbing and crying.."Tom-come now-come quick- my son is dead." We jumped into our pickup truck and sped down to his farm, not knowing what we would find. A heart attack maybe? A tractor accident? We prayed that whatever it was, that we would be a source of comfort to our friend. But we were completely unprepared for what we saw. His son (age 29) was dead of a gunshot wound to the head. We arrived before the police did. We saw his body, leaning over his lap with his hands tucked in his lap. Sitting on the edge of his bed. Blood everywhere. Was it murder or suicide? No one seemed to know. The father paced around outside, chain smoking and eyes brimming with tears- asking the inevitable question: "why?"  When the police arrived, they respectfully approached the house and tentatively opened the door. As they peered inside, they all burst into tears and cried unashamedly. That surprised me. But I realized that that is the way that Ethiopians show compassion for others' sorrow. Even the police. There were around 70 farm employees squatting in groups around the house, speaking quietly, some crying. He was well liked by them all. The police did their investigation-taking fingerprints and removing the bed and even a wall as evidence. I felt like I was watching an episode of CSI. But there were no easy answers- to some it looked like a murder that was made to look like a suicide.....who knows?
But then our friend asked us to transport the body to Addis Ababa( the only place in the country that can do an autopsy on a foreigner)  So we loaded his body in a wooden box and began the 9 hr drive to the capital. A car filled with policemen followed us and we drove through the night, arriving in Addis at 3 am
at the morgue. Another experience I will never forget. I won't describe what we saw there. It was too sad for words. And then the sister arrived from Italy- more tears as she saw her brother lying on the morgue table......
I don't know why we were a part of all this- I only know that living in Ethiopia has offered us challenges that we never could have anticipated. And only Jesus can give us the strength and the grace to cope with it and to see it through........please pray for this devastated family.....

Joy and Sorrow....

Many days my heart is filled with joy- especially when it comes to the little babies I get ‘to love on’ here. Some of you have sent beautiful, ‘gently worn’ baby clothes and shoes and I have had the joy of passing them out. The mothers grab the new clothes to their breasts and shriek with joy and say “thank you Jesus” over and over. Then they hurridly pull off the rags their baby is wearing and put on the clean new clothes. They are so proud of them! Such darling little babies-all of them! 

But other days are much harder. Yesterday was one of them.

I took our friend Asfaw to the local hospital to get treatment for his eyes. When I came out of the clinic I noticed there was a group of people gathered around next to my bajaj.

I went to investigate and there I found a small, still bundle in a mans’ arms. It was a dead child- probably only three years old. Snakebit. They had brought the child to the hospital from their rural village, but it died before they arrived. The mother was sitting in the dirt-crying and moaning-her friends holding her in their arms. The father, with vacant eyes-holding his dead child in his arms. My heart broke for them.....life is so hard here.

At times, I can hardly bear how they live. What can I do?  I cried with them and hugged them and offered what small words of comfort I know in Amharic. I gave them money to hire a truck to take them and their child back to their village for burial. I gave them some bottles of water for their sad journey. All I can hope is that whatever amount of compassion that Jesus put in my heart for them, was felt by them-and that they would know that there is a Comforter who loves them like no other. I don’t know how some people live who have no hope of Heaven. How they can live, believing that this life is all there is.......Please keep this family and others like them in your thoughts and prayers- for strength to endure this hard life they face---and also offer up thanksgiving to God who has blessed you with the life you have.