A day in the slums

I have been somewhat involved with the work of RHCF, my friend Winni's NGO for the past 3 years. RHCF includes food, education, and health aid to roughly 150 impoverished children who live in the slums of Addis Ababa. I met some of these children two years ago in a classroom setting. This time, I was able to go to their homes to see there living conditions in hopes that I could bring some encouragement (and gifts) on their New Year's eve. Betty and I met with the administrator of the organization, Fasika, at the entrance to the village/slum to begin our visiting journey. The homes are made of sheet metal and each are about 100 square feet in size, lined up one next to one another. There is a rock pathway that takes you downhill through the village that offers the only outdoor space to the inhabitants. Our first stop was at the base of the village. As we climbed down the path, we were greeted by people sitting in their doorways or standing outside curiously watching our decent. In my travels to AFRICA I have always had the chance to see real poverty, but it never ceases to shock me. We walked into darkness in the first shack. Inside, the flame that heated a burner warming a pot of tea above, was the only source of light and warmth. An elderly man greeted us with a large toothless smile and motioned for us to sit on the makeshift couch (old ratty cushions on the ground and against the wall). We then introduced ourselves to each member of the family. Buton, who is the only current child sponsored by RHCF, 4 years old, her sister, Beza, 8 years old, their cousin Aster, 17 who is currently playing the mother role and their grandfather. Beza and Butons parents are passed away from AIDS and the grief was apparent by little Buton's somber face. I tried some smiles, tricks, tickles, and a Snickers bar to get a smile from her to no avail. As we spoke together partly in Amharic (Betty translating my English) we talked about their interests and hopes. I learned Beza did not currently have a sponsor so I decided that I would take that small monetary responsibility in hopes that it would make a lasting positive difference in her future. After 30 minutes or so, we exchanged hugs and kisses, took photos, and left to our next home. The next home was Salams'. She is 10 years old, has aspirations to be a doctor someday, and lives with her grandmother and sick uncle as her parents have passed away from AIDS. This was another heartwrenching visit as I learned her uncle has been sick and bedridden for 18 months with week lungs. He has had limited access to good food and nutrition and medicine, and the little he has received has been as a result of the village members pitching in small amounts. In America, with his condition, he might likely be back to health after a few weeks of rest and antibiotics. Here in Ethiopia his condition meant months of suffering, bed rest, and monetary loss for his family as he is normally the primary breadwinner. We visited three more families all that had been touched by AIDS through their current condition or through the loss of a close relative. The day in the slums gravely reminded me of the vast need of this place and made me so thankful once again that I somehow won the genetic lottery by being born in America. I never want to forget these people and their plight as they serve as a reminder to stay committed to giving back in any small way as I have been blessed with so much.