Peoples and Cultures

In today’s Gospel reading (Matthew 18:1-5,10,12-14), in response to the question “Who is the greatest in the Kingdom of Heaven?”, Jesus calls a little child over to him. He presents the child as a model of how we should approach and trust God.

A story from Rafael Gonzalez, a Comboni Missionary who worked in Kenya, came quickly to my mind after listening to the scripture reading:

“There were 120 starving, poor children in the mission nursery school in the semi-desert of Northern Kenya where I used to live. They received their only food each day from the school. At noon daily, the youngsters lined up to receive their dinner. Old tin cans, wooden bowls, or just two tiny hands, received a modest amount of porridge made from roughly ground maize flour boiled in water.

One girl, named Namoe, who walked very, very far each day to attend school, filled her little baked bean tin daily. Then, unlike the rest of the children (who consumed their food on the spot), Namoe left the mission property with her full container.

One day I followed her at a distance. On and on she walked, porridge in hand. A few kilometers away from the school, she met her mother and her younger sister, sitting alongside the road in the shade.

Namoe sat down. She placed the little tin of porridge on the ground in the middle of the group. And she shared her only food for the day with her mother and sister.”

What a rare moment of beautiful love Rafael witnessed that day.  It speaks to me, in a special way, of Jesus’ words today: “Unless you change and become like little children, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven.”

– Maggie, Mark, Emebet, Isayas and Therese Banga, Comboni Lay Missionaries, Awassa, Ethiopia

I (Maggie) was at a conference in Awassa last month with medical staff from several clinics. During a break, I chatted with a doctor – let me call him Dr. Samuel – that I had met a few times before from another clinic in the city.  After multiple ‘hellos’ and customary Ethiopian greetings, I asked about his family, and whether he had any children, as this had not come up during our previous conversations.  He replied that he had one daughter and another child on the way. I quickly congratulated him but he said “No, don’t congratulate me – my wife cheated me, I didn’t want another child”.

I was surprised by his reaction and then he said. “I don’t want my children to grow up with no father”.

This doctor had always appeared to be in good health to me, so I said causally with a smile “you are not old, what will happen to you?” 

At that point, a small bell rang, signaling the start of the conference session.  So our conversation came to a premature end.  However, we met up later in the day and before the conference began he turned to me and started telling me about his sister in the USA. So I enquired whether he had ever had the chance to go to the USA.

Dr. Samuel replied with the following story.  “I have only left Ethiopia once, actually 7 years ago to go to Kenya.  I had had a cough for a few months and on the x-ray they saw a growth and referred me for more tests. They discovered a tumor but no treatment was available in Ethiopia.  I arranged with my sister in the USA and she coordinated everything to get me there for treatment including her commitment to pay for all the hospital and travel bills. We had all the paperwork complete and I went to the US embassy in Addis Abeba to apply for a travel visa.  Without a thought to me or a thorough read of my papers, the woman at the desk with skin even darker than mine, quickly stamped REJECTED on my papers.  I was so hurt, not only because of the rejection but mostly because of the disregard I was shown.  With this door shut, I had no option but to try to get to Nairobi, Kenya for treatment.”  Dr. Samuel paused and while staring me straight in the eyes, he then abruptly interrupted his story by venturing down a side tangent: “You know, I should be your age….. do you know I was in prison for 12 years?” I kept silent and Dr. Samuel went on. 

“When the DERG (the communist regime that held control in Ethiopia from 1974 until 1991) took power in the 1970’s, many university students were imprisoned because they were seen as a threat to the socialist manifesto.  I was kept for 6 years.  Following my release I went back to school and completed a Masters degree, but a few months later I was re-imprisoned again by the regime. I sat 6 more years in prison…. By the way, how old are you Maggie?” he asked me, but before I could peep an answer, he directed his eyes in a blank stare back to the wall and added: “If only I could have those years back.”

“When I got to Kenya, I failed to find any treatment for my tumor, so I ended up entering a refugee camp, thinking I might be able to get to the US for treatment but after three months they were on to me and they deported me back to Ethiopia.”  He paused again.

“So what about your health now?” I cautiously enquired. “I don’t know” he replied.  “I guess I’m doing okay. The tumor is still there.” The little bell rang again and with it, our conversation came to end as the conference session resumed.  We didn’t meet again afterwards.

Last week, I ran into Dr. Samuel and heard his good news. His wife gave birth to a baby girl, his new daughter, shortly after the conference.  Dr. Samuel smiled as he shared about his baby – a smile which at least for the moment seemed to soothe his scars from yesterday and fears for tomorrow.

– Maggie, Mark and Emebet, Comboni Lay Missionaries, Awassa, Ethiopia

The traditions of mourning the death of a loved one here in Ethiopia are some of the most different to us coming from a western culture.  Funerals are significant occasions here that involve the entire community. A white tent pitched alongside a house or the street is a sure sign of a family in mourning. When a person dies, mourners gather at the deceased’s home to comfort the family. The mourning tent will remain up for more than a week and during that time the family is never alone. Friends and relatives (and distant relatives and acquaintances) will come by each day to speak and offer their condolences but mostly to sit in silence with the family.  A typical funeral may be attended by thousands of people.

The family is usually a member of a local community group called an Idir.  It is a self-help funeral insurance club, and members meet monthly to make decisions about funds.  At the committee members’ discretion, funds might also be used for credit or during times of hardship. A typical Idir may be composed of 50 families.  Every month each family in the Idir contributes approx 15 birr (1$) to the fund, and if someone in their family dies, a sum of money will be given to the family to help with the costs of the burial and funeral.  While the family is grieving, the Idir will also quickly mobilize to make decisions for them and provide the mourning tent, large pots for cooking, utensils, chairs, benches and tables.  The Idir’s whole raison d’être is to provide a dignified and proper time of mourning for the family and it does this by lifting the entire weight of funeral logistics and finances from the family.

When visiting the family’s house to mourn, it is amazing that many times no words are said at all.  People will come and go, without saying anything or without even directly greeting the mourning family members. Sometimes in life words are insufficient and Ethiopians abide by this truth when it comes to mourning.  The important thing is to be present.  A few times, my (Mark) whole office has been closed for the entire staff to go mourn.  Our whole group (with women wearing black scarves over their heads) would enter the compound or house and sit down in silence on long wooden benches, with seats closest to the mourning family being presented to the elder or highest respected guests.  We would sit in silence for maybe half an hour with a piece of bread or roasted barley being served to us.  Then after a suitable amount of time, Fr. Sisto, the director of our office and most elder (with appropriate white hair) would stand and say a few words and a prayer for the deceased and the family. Our whole staff would then process out quietly without a word.

Forty days after the death there is another big celebration to mark the end of the main mourning period.  Typically during the forty days, family members of the deceased would wear different garments (mostly black) and hairstyles (widows often cutting off their hair).  Many times some relatives would come and sleep at the mourning family’s house for the entire 40 days to ensure that they are not alone.  A small memorial altar is usually assembled with a photo of the deceased and a burning candle.   The 40 day celebration typically involves a memorial mass at the church (for Orthodox and Catholics) followed by a meal at the family’s home. The white tent will be set up again and members of the Idir will come and help with cooking and preparations.   In October, the father of one of our closest friends died while I (Maggie) was working in the south and being in the rural countryside I didn’t receive the news until a few days after the funeral.  After returning from the South, I really wanted to attend the 40 day celebration to give my support to her and her family.

Our friend lives in Awassa but her family is from the small town of Kebre Mengist about 10 hours away. I stayed at her house here in Awassa the night before our departure so that we could catch the 4am bus together. We arrived two days before the celebration to help with preparations.  We walked from the bus station and were in the middle of normal conversation as we entered the family compound when suddenly everyone burst into tears and wails.  This was a final outlet to release the residual sadness that still remained. We wailed until one of the elders, an Uncle, simply said, ‘it is enough’ and then we moved on.

The next day at dawn an ox was bought and slaughtered and women began arriving in large numbers with baskets of onions, garlic, tomatoes and carrots tied on their backs.  They sat under the shade of the trees, working away at peeling and chopping vegetables or sorting lentils in colourful woven baskets, and chatted as they worked.  The full day they prepared stews and injera for the next days’ lunch.  I joined in and they let me stir the stew in a massive 200L pot. The work was broken up by coffee ceremonies throughout the day. Incense wafted in the air. People sat and people stayed.

They appreciated that I wanted to be there with them, and I was even given a sleeping place of honour in a bed (..with my friend and her aunt!). Eight other relatives slept all around us on various forms of mats and mattresses on the ground.  The mass at the Orthodox Church the next morning was simple and meaningful and hundreds of people came afterwards to share lunch together.  For us, we barely left the sleeping room all day. We sat, and people came, and rested, and told stories and shared memories.  There was far more talking than during the days immediately after the death, which reveals that the 40 days of intense mourning, letting all the feelings and tears out, has brought a healing that may otherwise not have come without this journey.

– Maggie

Maggie, Mark and Emebet Banga, Comboni Lay Missionaries, Awassa, Ethiopia