The first thing I noticed in Ethiopia, and an enduring image I’ll carry in my mind, is how hard people (and animals) toil.
I spent a lot of time being driven in trucks. Along the side of the roads there were always streams of people walking. If it took us an hour to get from Axum to Shire, how long did it take people to walk? It was 90F and humid with no shade. There were no sidewalks, just rock strewn shoulders. People walked barefoot or in what appeared to be 99 cent flip flops or jellies. No one was carrying a water bottle or wearing sun glasses. I’m sure they weren’t wearing sun screen.
Oh, and did I mention that they were all carrying enormous bundles of twigs, gallons of water, babies, rebar, small trees, or sacks of potatoes? Men, women, children. Old people, little kids. I saw a girl who looked like she was four years old walking alone in the middle of nowhere, balancing a case or juice boxes on her head. Did she ever wonder if this was normal, or okay?
The lucky ones had camels or donkeys whose paniers were loaded with rocks or bricks or 5 gallon water jugs. I rarely saw anyone riding a donkey or camel; they’re reserved for transporting heavy loads and riding one probably would seem frivolous.
The Ethiopian roads are probably better than what we have in the US—maybe due to not undergoing the freezing and thawing of winter. They’re smooth and black and look like they were laid down yesterday. And yet there is very little traffic. No one can afford a car. In a week there, I only ever saw one passenger sedan. Everything else is one of four things: a commercial truck, a bus, a white NGO Toyota Land Cruiser, or a Bajaj. These diesel powered three wheeled vehicles that taxi people around for short distances. I believe they’re called tuk-tucks in India and cocos in Cuba. Anyway, don’t bother looking for a taxi because there are none. And no worries about running a red light, because there are no stop lights of any color, stop signs, or signs pointing the way to anything.
Despite the great road and light traffic, Ethiopians still manage to have a lot of accidents. I saw four road accidents in the one-hour drive from Axum to Shire, all involving buses. One appeared to have rolled five or six times; an ambulance was at the scene and I couldn’t imagine anyone survived without major trauma.
Back in the refugee camp, I was listening to our staff tell the group how, if they feel “heavy” or worry constantly, suffer guilt for surviving when their family did not, or have flashbacks and nightmares, those are normal reactions to the abnormal experiences they’ve lived through. They described how talking about troubling emotions with others can help people heal.
This may seem obvious to you, but I wish someone had told me all this when I was an adolescent because, well, I wasn’t tortured but I believed I was the only one on earth who felt insecure, unpopular, and ugly. Well maybe I was, but odds are I wasn’t.
A scrawny kid of about 15 sauntered up and started listening. He was wearing skinny jeans and a black shirt with white lettering that said, “Life is Party.” He was smoking—the first smoker I’d seen—although I was told later that lots of the kids on their own smoke.
There were other funny T-shirts in the crowd, likely made in China. One said “Inmy Mind;” my favorite was “Jerry Smith World Famous Surveying Co.” How cool is that T-shirt?
I wondered how long had it been since he’d seen his mother or father. He looked tres cool but then teenagers always do.
The speaker was now talking about CVT’s services, and making very clear that CVT does not provide any material aid or cash support. A woman raised her hand to say she’d attended the groups and that “going to CVT does not mean you are crazy.” The audience was encouraged to contact CVT if they “knew anyone” with the symptoms described.