Mommy Daddy, I Don't Want To Go Home

It was only our second evening meal in Gesas and Andrea was trying out a new dish – beef pot pie. All of our efforts in canning beef/vegetable stew back in Addis Ababa were paying off already as tonight’s dish looked amazing, and our taste buds later confirmed that its beauty was more than skin deep. About half way through the meal, Micah blurted out at random “Mommy, Daddy, I don’t want to go home.” Not quite sure what to make of the statement as we were all together, sitting on our Gesas house’s porch eating a fabulous home-cooked meal, we asked for clarification. “I don’t want to go home, I want to stay in Gesas.” We smiled as we responded “We are not going anywhere, we are home.”

 

Yes, Micah, our journey has finally finished, we are back where God has called us for this season in life. And despite the hot, hot dry season, despite the parched, crispy brown version of our otherwise beautiful surroundings, despite the toilet we flush only once a day, despite the dust that covers everything and the constant feeling of being dirty, despite the aged tires we are maybe unwisely trusting in to get us back to Addis one last time, despite whatever some may see as challenging about our lives out here, there is honestly no place we would rather be right now. Leading up to our return, we had wondered how Micah would transition after having adjusted to the land of abundant goodies. And apart from the still consistent at least once-a-day question, “Are we going to stay here?” we are pleased to report that Micah is happy back here in Gesas. Seemingly, we all are. 

 

Sure, things feel different as we came in feeling a bit detached from life around here, but slowly we are fitting back in. The addition of three new chickens into our vacant coup has helped. Micah went to market with me to help pick them out although there wasn’t much picking to be done – we bought the only three hens of laying age in the whole market. The names? Well, Micah helped named them this time. First he named the black one all by himself - Patuwa. That means pumpkin in Gumuz. In naming the white one, we offered a bunch of white possibilities milk, sugar, snow, moon and he liked the name B’ija which means “moon”.  Lastly, the “red” hen, well, the chicken is red, a fire truck is red, Logan is a fire fighter. Enough said, the chicken’s name is now Logan. Sorry Log (if you’re reading this) I was hoping he would go for Reese’s name, but instead he got stuck on yours. If it helps she was the best looking (and most expensive) of the three we bought. It must be said however, we are not planning on getting too attached to Patuwa, B’ija and Logan. Rather we hope that they meet our baking needs and an occasional breakfast, only to meet the end of a knife before we head back to the capital city in late February. Why? Because we are here for only four more weeks, then in the capital for six. Here again for three or four more weeks and then gone for another month. With such a sporadic presence, we can’t really invest in a set of feathered friends enough to see chicks. That is, until we can be here for longer stints…hopefully over the “summer” months. Believe me, our chickening days are far from over!