March 21, 2010
Today is Sunday and here at the Alyssa farm there is no resting on the Sabbath. Or very little. The people here are mostly Muslim and they have their Sabbath on Saturday, which is also market day for them. Many of them did not come to work yesterday because it is the Sabbath day, but the belief around here at the farm amongst the Americans is that they do not come because it is market day and they all want to walk there and buy goods. The market is anywhere from five to fifteen miles away, depending on who you ask. No one seems to have a very precise answer. Usually the farm workers from the states try to go to the market on Saturday also, but because we were flying in, everyone wanted to stay and welcome us here.
So, today I woke up around 5:30 am because of a braying donkey, or mule, or something. It was very loud and startling and sounded like it was on the other side of the wall. Then I heard someone come knocking at the door, or I thought someone was knocking. Alan explained that it is a type of bird that likes to perch on the window sill and look at its reflection and tap on the window with its beak. Then Wes’s cats and monkey started chirping and squeaking and did not shut up. I felt really bad for Clair Jackson who was sleeping on a mattress in the frontroom because the monkey and cats decided he would make a great overnight pillow.
Everything is so different here, and I expected it to be. Something I learned from going on a mission and I am having a bit of culture shock, but I think I’m dealing with the differences pretty well. Alan was very excited to show us the house and how nice it looked and all that has been done. And I just couldn’t appreciate it because as I said to Alan “It’s all relative.” From his perspective, the houses are almost luxurious. From my perspective the houses are a big step down and away from what we’re all so used to in the states. I almost immediately knew I had hurt his feelings so I tried to be very positive after that and not make too much of a fuss about not having all the comforts of home – like running water. But on the positive side, we do have a large water truck outside which hauls in as much water as we want. We have not struck water on our own well here at the farm, so we don’t have running water. Wes went looking for a nearby village that might let us buy water from them and he found a village with a well, but no propane to run the generator that pumps the well. They said we could have water from their well if we would give them propane to fuel their generator. I think that’s how it’s working.
Anyway, enough about the crazy house situation here. Wait, just one more thing – right now and until next Friday, I’m the only American woman on the farm. Alyssa , her mom, and Everett have gone to Addis to see if they can finally get their orphan children and bring them here to live. Everyone is hoping that it will happen this time. So, I am in this house with Alan, Wes, Alyssa’s dad, Val, and Clair. Bracken and Mark, a son in law of Paul Morrell , come to eat and visit, and joke with our silly maids. I am in charge of the silly maids and I will write more about that later.
Yesterday, after our arrival on the farm I was walking with another lady who flew down with us on the plane just to visit. We were being surrounded by children who were just staring at us. Then they would chatter and laugh. Then an older lady came and scolded them away, but it turned out she wanted us to look at something. We didn’t know what she wanted us to see until she brought from behind her a filthy fly-covered baby who was hanging in a bag slung on her back. The baby, probably between 1 and 2, had a badly burned left hand and was in shock, I thought. They were both filthy. Julie, the woman with me, was a nurse and responded quickly. She hustled the woman and baby over to the house and asked for the first-aid kit. The farm has a huge kit and they got it to us fast. Julie got the burn supplies from the bag and she and I went to work. We had to untangle the baby from the lady and somehow convince the lady that even though we were going to help the baby, it would really hurt. I held the baby’s arm as Julie cleaned the burn. I cannot describe how awful it was. I’ve never seen a burn that bad. A crowd soon gathered and we could see the distressed looks on all their faces . The whole farm was upset. Julie got a package that had a pad with a large amount of ooze in it. She told me that it was to take the deep burn out the baby’s hand. Then we wrapped a lot of gauze around her little hand and arm, and taped it up. The mother just sat their holding the baby without much emotion. However, she must have been desperate to get help because she came to us. Wes says most of the women around here would not have brought a baby to the white people or forenjees. We had to have two translators to understand each other because the woman is from a tribe here in the southern part of Ethiopia and does not speak Ahmaric, or Orommiha, but some tribal language. We had several people running around to finally find someone who could translate into her language. The baby screamed the whole time and tried to get away, but her mother held on tight and we got the job done. We told her to come back everyday, and I was sure she wouldn’t , but lo and behold at about 1:00 this afternoon she arrived with the baby.
Val and I undertook the nursing job and we cut off the bandage and had to clean her burn. Horrible, horrible, horrible. Julie told me that the skin would start to peel off and to get it all off if it was dead. Her skin was really peeling off, in fact it was so black crisp kind of like a baked potato skin. I was too tender, and soon Val took over. Then the medic of the farm (local Ethiopian) showed up and he was ruthless. He grabbed that baby’s hand and pulled the dead tissue off and underneath was all pink and tender and lots of bleeding. Julie had thought the burn was a second degree burn, but I’m sure that the palm of her hand was third degree. I could see the different layers of skin. This time the baby was out of her mind screaming and kicking. The medic pulled the skin off the tips of her fingers and I was afraid her little nails were going to come off too, but they stayed on. The medic wanted to pour alcohol onto the wound, but Val and I put up a fuss and Alan took the bottle away from him and wouldn’t give it back. Then he wanted to put Neosporin on it, and Val and I wouldn’t let him, because Julie told us it would be too soon. Later, in a few days she said. So we put on some dressing that was anti-sticking and we bandaged up her little hand again. Again we told the mother to bring her back tomorrow, and I hope she will. Everyone was thinking I was going to get sick and lose it, but I didn’t. I was just so nervous, that I kept dropping important things that were supposed to stay clean, like scissors, bandages, and wipes, etc. I was a wreck when she left and I needed to run into my bedroom and have a big cry. I wanted Alan to give the baby a blessing, but he couldn’t do it because they are Muslim. He did get one hand on the baby’s head for about 20 seconds but I didn’t know if he was praying or not, because it was so brief. The little baby needs to have a priesthood blessing, which would do her more good than anything else. I have been praying for the baby since yesterday, and am going to fast tomorrow and I would appreciate someone in Idaho or Utah putting her on the temple rolls. Just “little Ethiopian baby girl” would be enough, I think for the temple.
Today the maids did laundry and cooked us some scrambled eggs for breakfast and spaghetti noodles for lunch. Bierka, our head maid, will not do laundry, but she tries to supervise. The problem is that these girls don’t have the same standards that we do. I should say they don’t have the same standards as I do, because some of these American men here are just fine with the cooking and laundering. Bierka was cracking eggs and then putting the filthy eggshells into the nice clean frying pan instead of the garbage which was right next to her. I had to point to the garbage and insist she use it. None of these girls had seen a stove and oven before so they don’t like to use it. They’re scared of it because fire comes out of it. They prefer the kerosene burner which, may I point out, also has fire coming out of it and makes everything taste of kerosene, which no one around here likes. Funny how they can handle the fire from the kerosene burner, but not from the gas stove. It’s hard for them to change their ways, but I have to insist some times. I made Bierka cook the eggs on the stovetop for breakfast and then for lunch I let her cook the spaghetti noodles on the kerosene burner. We have to compromise. She did volunteer to cook the strange fowl that we’re having for dinner tonight on the stove top. One minute there was a guinea hen crouched in a pen on my porch, and the next thing I know, the bird parts are in the pot. Wow, those girls are so fast at some things.
Other things take them hours and hours. Yesterday, I swear it took one of the maids a whole hour to clean one pot. They sit and talk and talk and then do a little swipe here and there. The same thing with the laundry. Hours and hours, in the dirt. They squat in the dirt and wash all our clothes in a very shallow container. It’s more like a disc. I have many, many complaints about the laundry process. I bought some clothes pins for here, and they did not know how to make them work for they had never seen anything like them before. They were amused by the squeeziness of the clothes pins. They used them on everything except the socks. And then the wind came up and blew all our somewhat clean socks into the dirt. So, tomorrow we will do laundry again.
I insisted on having the sacrament today, but everytime I suggested it, they would say later, later. Finally when they were about ready to turn in and go to bed, Alan, Clair, Val and I decided it was time for the sacrament. Clair Jackson had brought over a kit and they broke up a little bread we had been given by Julie and then we sang a sacrament song. Bracken didn’t sing because he claimed he didn’t know the words or the tune. Then they blessed the bread and water and we partook. I felt a lot better about the day, but I really think next week we should do it earlier.
Our monkey taking a bath.
Camel and herder
If you can believe it-this one and the next are restaurants or competing tribal restaurants! Crazy!
The one above is a welding shop.
Herd of camels
Locals wanting their pictures taken
Land being cleared
Bush being burned
Alan with an AK-47. (yes he is growing a beard) Just think, a month ago he was the first councelor in the bishopric.... now he has a beard and a gun.
If you want to email us you can at shelleybaum@yahoo.com.
2 comments:
Hi Shelley - this is Val, Bracken's wife. Thank you so much for adding to Alan's blog. I really appreciate all the information and details you are providing. I cannot get so much out of Bracken. I also love the pictures, especially the one with Alan and the gun. When I saw it, I laughed out loud. He looks like he fits right in!!
Also, you are such a good woman for taking care of that baby's arm. I really hand it to you, my stomach could not have handles it!!
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