House Call

“Wush, wush, wush…” I heard it with my own ears! Hard to believe it’s already been more than two years now since I first heard that sound coming from what has since become the little chatterbox bouncing around on the bed next to me. “Bobby?” Micah said pointing at Andrea’s belly. “That’s right, Micah,” I smiled as I listened to the newest Williamson’s strong and regular heartbeat.

Who would have thought, that out here in the boonies of Ethiopia, 2-3 hours off the nearest paved road, we could be blessed with a professional obstetrician’s house call? Not that we had gone looking for such a visit. Rather one of our friends nearby has recently opened a clinic and wanted his new nurse to receive some further training in the area of obstetrics (since it is a very common and serious medical need among young and poorly nourished expectant mothers). And well, these days, news of little Bobby is hard to hide from anyone who might causally catch a side profile of my little lady. So when the doctor from  Addis Ababa came to our area, we were graciously added in his schedule of visits. We hadn’t expected to see a doctor until our next visit to Addis (in mid-May) during which time, I will be stuck in all-day workshops. But now, here we were, the three of us together, in the comfort of our own home, listening to the first indisputable evidence of new life (60 cent pregnancy tests can’t be infallible and Andrea’s belly expansion, well, I thought maybe she’d found a backwoods Dairy Queen I don’t know about!). In all honesty, the idea of two kids running around home hasn’t fully hit us yet, but we are definitely excited!

Two notes to include before I close. I have been calling the baby “Bobby” because I believe it will be a little brother for Micah (although, yes Grandma Sue, I would be very happy with a Bobbi as well). I have no real reason for believing the gender to be a boy, just a hunch. Why the name Bobby? Because Andrea has ruled out the name “Bob” despite all the respectable Bob’s we know (if only she had known my inspirational algebra teacher -Bob Leet! He’s one of a kind!) Second, with the complication of an emergency C-section in Micah’s delivery, we have decided to plan our first furlough in conjunction with Bobby’s arrival (due date Oct 1). Therefore, plans are underway to fly home late this summer, spend time with family and friends, visit our partnering churches, maybe take a course in Dallas, and enjoy Christmas and New Years with our families. There is much to be excited for! Anticipation of seeing many of you is high on that list, right after Bobby and, well, Dairy Queen!

The Bucket Shower: New and Improved

Part of the purpose of this blog site is to reveal some of the things from our lives that may seem strange to you, but have become simply normal for us. Today’s entry is such a blog, in which we are glad to introduce you to our bucket shower. The photo above is actually the new and improved edition, the result of a hard working crew of visitors last summer! Why did it take so long for us to write about such a significant upgrade? Because we wanted to make sure the new edition would stand the test of time before giving credit to its creators. Yes, mom and dad, it has served us well.

For months leading up to my parents visit from the states, we started making a list of chores that could be done for us if they felt the urge to do something other than play with their grandson.  One of those chores read as follows, “Create for us a new bucket shower, one that we can turn on and off, and can be hung over the bathtub in such a way that I can fit my 6’ 2’’ frame under without kneeling or ducking down.” You see the first edition of the bucket shower was simply a bucket with three small holes drilled in the bottom. Turning it on and off was done by sticking one’s finger over the holes. And, the way that first bucket was hung made either for angry knees or awkward positions on the slippery enamel surface.

So, my parents took on that project in classic trial and error fashion, of course with my taunting after each mediocre attempt, “If it doesn’t meet the criteria, I’m getting out my drill again and drilling three new holes.”

It was a typical junk yard type of job as we don’t have a Home Depot nearby for finding the necessary parts and tools. They had to make do with what we could find around the house. My three holes were patched up with epoxy.  Two old solar showers were sacrificed for their different pieces: a spout and tube from one and a 90 degree angle and clamp from the other. A little bit of silicone, zip tie, twisty tie and the master piece was completed. Ingeniously bending the handle not only added to the stylistic value, but it also helped raise it the final two inches needed. Hung on a homemade “S” hook, it was good to go!

And still is, after eight months of service. It is perfect for our lives out here at Gesas. Heat water on the stove and combine it with cold water to reach the desired temperature (which amazingly stays constant regardless of whether someone flushes the toilet). Then hang it up, release the clamp and enjoy the warm trickle. But don’t enjoy it too much, for when the water’s gone, it’s gone, and the shampoo better be out of your hair. Our memories of the States tell us that there is such a thing as showers with hot water, high pressure, coming from a virtually unlimited water supply. Warning to our next visitors, such a shower just got added to our updated “visitor chore list.”

Downright Cute

That’s right, it was downright cute…from his wonder at the coloring process, to his excitement in the hunt, that forbidden word in my vocabulary kept surfacing again and again in my mind. Those of you parents of curious 2ish year olds have been there no doubt, but please bear with me in my reflection.

It had been a long night – two days worth of dishes were washed, the storage closet had been cleaned out and organized, the five baskets of trash had been burned, we had tried our best to shower off the stench of burning plastic and now, just about 2 hours past our normal bedtime, we slipped under our mosquito net for the night. “Well,” I thought out loud as we settled in, “tomorrow is Easter back at home. What kind of Easter traditions do you want to have as a family?” Now, such conversation starters are generally unproductive in our home after 9pm, but not this evening, despite our encroachment on the midnight oil, “Can we do an Easter egg hunt?” “Of course,” I responded, “and we should color the eggs first!” It was strange to hear us agree upon such a stereotypical holiday celebration as none of the other holidays seem to follow suit - no fireworks on the 4^th, no candy on Halloween, no turkey on Thanksgiving, and no tree, candy canes, Santa or presents on Christmas. Pretty lame, huh? Well, maybe we’re turning over a new leaf beginning with a good ole fashion Easter egg hunt.

And so, late Easter Sunday morning, we asked, “Hey Mickey, do you want to color some eggs?” To which he responded affirmatively despite not having a clue what we asked him. He climbed up onto the kitchen table chair and much to his enjoyment, he helped us from the very beginning as we prepared the red, blue, green and yellow dyes. All in all, he did very well and was allowed to participant in much of the dying process; he carefully placed each of the eggs in a cup of dye (well, carefully except the one that he threw in), he helped raise the tongs to check the coloring and he was very helpful in expressing his approval with spontaneous “wow”s when he saw a hue he liked. Very cute indeed. As we were finishing the last of our eggs, two Gmz men showed up at our door. Showing them the strangely colored eggs I said, “I think my chickens are sick, look at the eggs they laid, do you know of this type of sickness?” Their eyes widened, “Those are eggs? From a chicken?” Relieving them of further confusion, I told them the truth as best I understood it, “Our culture colors eggs and then has children hunt for them on Easter. When Jesus arose from the dead, he brought new life, right? Well, the egg represented new life as well, so I think that is why we do it” (forget about the fact that the life within these eggs had been boiled away only to be devoured later...insignificant details). Anyway, our Gmz friends thought that it was a good tradition, well at least to our faces. Back at home, I can’t help but think of them shaking their heads in disbelief at yet another crazy thing we foreigners do.

Crazy or not, Micah really loved it all, especially the culmination of the festivities later in the afternoon. And once again he did very well. Sure, I suppose we helped him a bit with the tougher ones, but he did find all seven colored eggs, not once but twice.

Each time he made us laugh with his own enjoyment of spotting one and upon collecting it, his consistent need to confirm that we didn’t forget its name, “egg.” Darn cute. And finally, the cherry on top was sitting down for the egg feast. Both Micah and I each had two! Mmmm.

So all in all, it was a nice Easter celebration and given the fun that we all had, it has great potential of being a tradition repeated next year. Turning over a new leaf on holidays? Quite possibly, for we’ve learned that experiencing holiday traditions, albeit stereotypically, has new appeal when we can experience them afresh through the wide eyes and infectious giggles of a curious toddler.

Words that Bite

No, this is not a blog about the difficulty of wrestling with some key terms in the translation of Scripture, although they truly do bite as well! No, this is a blog about the power of words, as I was reminded through the mouth of babes.

 

It wasn’t long ago (October) that I wanted to write a blog entitled “Mmmmoo, Ayaya, Beep” as these where the three words we heard at least 6 dozen time on the fifteen-minute walk down to the water pump. “Mmmmoo” is obviously the sound of a cow, in which Micah very much stressed the “M.” This stemmed from one day when we were walking to the water pump and a mother cow was looking for her lost baby. She was running up and down the road mooing really loudly. Micah of course started mooing right back which seemed to annoy the distraught cow and got everyone within earshot busting up laughing. Micah relived that incident over and over. “Ayaya” was Micah’s lengthened version of the Gumuz word for water – “aya” – as he felt the need to remind us and other travelers where we were going. We understand “beep” to be an early attempt at pronouncing poop (rather than his own bleeping of foul words from his mouth). Whether dry and shriveled or hot and steaming, Micah’s eagle-eyes didn’t miss many piles of it, and thus, neither did we. And so, as you can see, Micah’s repertoire of words kept us thoroughly entertained.

 

Since that time, Micah’s vocabulary has grown significantly, that is in Gumuz, Amharic and, most of all, in English. He has the luxury of choosing the language that is easiest to roll off his little tongue. So everyone gets scolded in Gumuz “Batash!”, shown the flowers in Amharic “ababa”, and requested for food in English “Eat!” Be prepared for a haphazard foreign language lesson the first time you meet the little jabber jaw.

 

As mentioned in the story about Micah’s sicknesses, we went out of Gesas to get fresh air at the highland house of one of our friends. While preparing for dinner, it was clear that Micah had something very important to say. He said it to me (Travis) twice before giving up and seeking out his preferred translator…mommy.  Mommy, of course, picked up his question and relayed it to the rest of us. “The power of words,” our friend remarked, “It opens up a whole new world for him.” “True,” I responded, “it can also get him in some pretty big trouble.”

 

It’s not unusual for me to make statements like that whose truth cuts much deeper than the conversation at hand. Without explanation, I drifted into the world of my private mind and mulled over the major storm brewing 430 kilometers down the road – a storm caused by my own poorly chosen words in an e-mail sent the previous day. As with all storms, this one will pass but the truth it reflects still remains. Words can bless and words can build up, but at the same time, words can destroy and words can come back to bite their owners. Believe me, the ugly side of this truth takes on new significance when the teeth marks still throb.