Ethiopia: Week 1

Week 1 in Ethiopia.


It is hard to believe that I have now spent 1 week in Ethiopia. I arrived last Friday. By Monday I was getting some headway with the city, buying language books, visiting the Jesuit novices, and making my way to CNEWA, the Catholic Near East Welfare Association, where I am volunteering part time. On Monday evening, I met abuna meussié, an Ethiopian capuchin bishop, who has a great interest in inculturation. He told me about a symposium that is just touching on this topic as it addresses the role of religious life within the Ethiopian context. For this past week, I have been completely absorbed by this symposium, learning all about Ethiopian spirituality, monastic life and the particular situation of catholic religious here and a way forward. It was fascinating. I feel like I have been able to condense one month of experiences into one week. We finished the week with a pilgrimage to the birthplace of a famous Ethiopian monk. This monk, Abuna, Takla Haymanot, stood for 22 years praying in one spot. After that time, somehow one of his legs fell off. So he stood 7 more years on one leg praying. Then he died. This is the legend concerning this priest. I really feel as if I was able to start off my research here on the right foot, somewhat like Abuna takla…. Sorry, terrible joke. My experience so far has really enlightened me to the situation that is going on right here on the ground, both in the Catholic Church and in the orthodox church.

For the catholic church, Ethiopia is still very much a missionary church. This is, in part, the dilemma of the catholic church here. The catholic church fully recognizes the Ethiopian orthodox church. The majority of the converts, however, are coming from the orthodox church. The whole country, according to the Vatican, is supposed to be operating under the Ethiopian rite. Only 3 diocese conform to this. Certainly if one measures the faith by numbers, it would appear that it is best for the church to celebrate mass in the Latin rite. In becoming Catholic, they, as one priest critically put it, become half Italian. This serves to alienate those who become Catholics from Ethiopians, severing them from their own Christian tradition, their own culture.

One older nun recounted to me what it felt like after she had converted some 40 years ago. The catholic missionaries had not regarded her as a real Christian when she was an orthodox and the orthodox, upon finding out that she was a catholic, also regarded her as a traitor. She felt called, however, to live the religious life of the catholic church, with its special charism of working with the poor. She has since left the Franciscan sisters and started her own congregation, living amongst the poor, fighting abject poverty. She told me about how at this point in her life, she is rediscovering her religious identity within the context of being both a catholic and an Ethiopian.

Saturday

Today I volunteered at the Mother Theresa House in Siddest Kilo. I was invited the night before by two med students from George Washington university. Oddly enough, they are currently in school with Andrew Goldberg, who I had wrestled with back in high school. I had already planned on making my way out there to visit the Jesuits, but I didn’t have any intention of actually dealing with patients. It was, however, one of the opportunities I have been anticipating.

Some weeks ago, after church, a woman sat on the steps, with her swollen foot sitting out on the steps. The wound was about the size of a pancake and the muscles was exposed. There were flies on it. I had a hard time looking at it. I had a hard time even standing near her as my roommate and I waited for the priest to finish up confessions so that he could drive her to the hospital. My stomach retreated to my feet and I, squeamishly, stood at watch, a safe distance away, for the priest.

Today, I confronted just as many terrible wounds, but this time with nothing but compassion and concern. I cleaned wounds with high powered sprays from syringes. I dabbed bleeding abrasions with gauze, rubbing on antibiotic creams. I dressed wounds with bandages. Not once did my stomach turn, not once did I turn in discomfort. I cannot explain how I reacted so differently to these two situations. Perhaps, it was simply the fact that here, I could do something to be of help. Here, I set aside any emotions or distaste, for there it is of no help, and I just cheerfully trudged forward.

I was so happy to be taken in under the wing of these med students and actually taught a practical skill. I have continually expressed a desire throughout this trip to take a course in basic first aid so I could be of assistance in just such a way. I hope to continue to volunteer with the missionaries of charity, helping where I may.