Let's Keep These Books Coming!

People have been amazingly generous (we can't thank you enough). So we've added more to our request list, to make sure that everyone who wants to donate gets a chance to. We've included more advanced books to give Daniel's college library.

All but 8 or so of the first list have been taken, and we have some duplicates, so below are the ones no one has bought yet, with additional requests.

(See previous post for more detailed instructions):

Updated List plus Extras

When I Get Bigger (Little Critter): Mercer Mayer

The Little Engine that Could: Watty Piper, George Hauman

The Cat in the Hat: Dr. Seuss

Green Eggs and Ham: Dr. Seuss

Rootabaga Stories, Part 2: Carl Sandburg

Goodnight Moon: Margaret Wise Brown

Chicka Chicka Boom Boom: Bill Martin, Jr.

All By Myself: Mercer Mayer

Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day: Judith Viorst

New requests:

The Giving Tree: Shel Silverstein

The Velveteen Rabbit: Margery Williams

Stone Soup

The Naked Mole Rat Gets Dressed: Mo Willems

The Pigeon Loves Things That Go!: Mo Willems

The Pigeon Finds a Hot Dot: Mo Willems

Don’t Let the Pigeon Stay Up Late!: Mo Willems

Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus!: Mo Willems

The Tale of Peter Rabbit: Beatrix Potter

Noah Barleywater Runs Away: John Boyne, Oliver Jeffers

Probuditi!: Chris Van Allsburg

Ben’s Dream: Chris Van Allsburg

Guess How Much I Love You

Harold and the Purple Crayon

Olivia

Curious George: H.A. Roy

Tikki Tikki Tembo

The Runaway Bunny

Madeline

We’re Going On a Bear Hunt

Llama Llama Red Pajama: Anna Dewdney

Russell the Sheep: Rob Scotton

More Advanced Books for Daniel’s College: Adwa College of Teacher Education

The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe: C.S. Lewis

The Magician’s Nephew: C.S. Lewis

The Horse and His Boy: C.S. Lewis

The Silver Chair: C.S. Lewis

The Last Battle: C.S. Lewis

Prince Caspian: The Return to Narnia: C.S. Lewis

The Voyage of the Dawn Treader: C.S. Lewis

*Any novels, books of poetry, or dramas that are appropriate for a 6^th grade reading level

Again: thank you, thank you, thank you! We couldn't do this without you (volunteers make no money). So we are thankful for your giving hearts. Bravo!

Donate Books!

(the promised post)

Keywords: Free shipping. Five bucks. Easy.

If you would love to have a hand in our work here, or impact loads of Ethiopian kids, we’ve got one word for you: books. Daniel and I know from experience that reading as a child is crucial. It not only develops literacy and vocabulary, but also a love for reading as you grow old. We are lucky: reading is engrained in the culture of America. Unfortunately, that’s not the case everywhere.

I’d start a bet with you that in our two years of service, we won’t be in a family’s home that has a book for enjoyable reading. Textbooks? Sure. A picture book? What is that? Well, since the kids can’t read at home, good thing their schools have libraries, right? Wrong.

Adi-Mahleka, a school where I have English Club every Friday, has not a single children’s book in their library. Not in Tigrigna, not in Amharic, not in English. Zero. They’ve got textbooks galore, but what child is going to read those? Adua, another of my schools, has maybe 10 children’s books: a feat I nearly jumped and sang for.

Betterworldbooks.com is a website that works much like Toms shoes: you buy a book online (free worldwide shipping!) and they donate another to someone in need. We know firsthand that this donation process is legit; just two months ago, a handful of our volunteers received 500 boxes of books from this donation program (some of which were given to us for Adwa schools, when they had overflow). Daniel and I have created a wishlist for the schools in Adwa: which means, if you buy one book (average cost 5-7 dollars, again no shipping!), another is still being donated. That’s two books for children who have none, for the price of two Starbuck’s drinks.

In other words—pretty please?

Here’s how it works: Below are the list of books we’d like. Repeats are great too, but we’d prefer a versatile library for Adi-Mahleka, versus 10 copies of Green Eggs and Ham. So peruse the list below, email me at danielle.luttrull@gmail.com, and let me know what books you want to buy. This way, I can tell you, “Aunt So-and-So just emailed me that she bought such-and-such. Can you choose a different one?” Then go to betterworldbooks.com, click Used Books from the categories on the left, type the book you want in the search bar, find your best price, and buy! Did I mention it’s free shipping?

Please have the books sent to:

Daniel and Danielle Luttrull

P.O. Box 227

Adwa, Ethiopia

Also, if there’s a children’s book not on the list that you really like, have at it! All books are welcome. When in doubt, the authors we’ve chosen below are great starts. When your book arrives to us, we will write on the inside cover: “Donated by __(name)___ from __(city)__, __(state)__, USA.”

And, God-willing, if we have an amazing response, we’ll make another list. Meles Zenawi is a tiny school in my district and given the size of their campus and their newness, I’d venture to guess they too are bookless. We surely can’t be sent too many: the need is great.

Where the Wild Things Are: Maurice Sendak

When I Get Bigger (Little Critter): Mercer Mayer

There Was an Old Lady Who Swallowed a Fly: Pam Adams

The Very Hungry Caterpillar: Eric Carle

The Mitten: Jan Brett

The Little Engine that Could: Watty Piper, George Hauman

The Foot Book: Dr. Seuss

The Cat in the Hat: Dr. Seuss

Green Eggs and Ham: Dr. Seuss

Oh, the Places You’ll Go: Dr. Seuss

Hop on Pop: Dr. Seuss

One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish: Dr. Seuss

Rootabaga Stories, Part 2: Carl Sandburg

Just Me and My Dad: Mercer Mayer

Just a Dream: Chris Van Allsburg

Jumanji: Chris Van Allsburg

If You Give a Mouse a Cookie: Laura Joffe Numeroff

Goodnight Moon: Margaret Wise Brown

Corduroy: Don Freeman

Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs: Judi Barrett, Ron Barrett

Clifford’s Manners: Norman Bridwell

Clifford’s First Autumn: Norman Bridwell

Clifford the Big Red Dog: Norman Bridwell

Clifford and the Big Parade: Norman Bridwell

Chicka Chicka Boom Boom: Bill Martin, Jr.

Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See?: Bill Martin, Jr.

Are You My Mother?: P.D. Eastman

All By Myself: Mercer Mayer

Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day: Judith Viorst

Go, Dog, Go!: P.D. Eastman

If you decide to participate, thank you a million times over. You’re lovely. You’re making a difference.

Other things:

-Christmas in Bahir Dar was amazing. It was wonderful to be with friends; to watch Rudolph on the big screen; to swim at a gorgeous resort; to make and enjoy donuts Christmas morning; to eat injera with fish from the Nile; to eat stuffing, yams, cranberry sauce, ham, and turkey (thanks to a volunteer’s dear mother who sent her visiting son to her other son with a suitcase full of cans); to make instant snow from a can; and to even record an Ethiopian rap. (On our route home, we stopped in Gondar and saw castles!)

These are our closest friends we spent Christmas with (among several other volunteers): Sarah, Amanda, Aaron, Tyler. Sarah & Aaron are the married volunteers in Bahir Dar.

 

-We finally bought a fridge! Here is a photo of its home-delivery:

While we could do American things like play with the fridge box with our neighbor kids (it quickly became a bajaj, and we dragged Meron in the box around the yard), there were some non-normal things: like the loads of cockroaches who were living in the box, because of an infestation at the fridge store (this is no Home Depot, people). We hope we got them all; we want a fridge, but certainly not cockroaches. But now we can have ice, cold water, mayo (deviled eggs and candied orange peel for New Year’s!), and our fruits and veggies will last a lot longer.

-Our friend Sarah’s aunt (married volunteer in Bahir Dar) sent her three black baby dolls. Unfortunately, two of Sarah’s neighbor girls moved away hours before the package arrived. Fortunately for Meron and Rodas, Sarah is generous and gave them to us. Here is a photo of Meron after opening her gift (which was the longest gift opening ever, complete with 3 nose-blowing-and-carrying-tissue-to-the-garbage intermissions; we believe it was her first time opening a wrapped present):

-We were super pumped about the fact that a new cobblestone road is being constructed outside our house: this will mean a much less dusty living room, once the dirt road is covered. However, when you put three teenagers on a bulldozer who don’t know what they’re doing, bad things happen. They broke a water pipe outside our house, which meant no water for five houses. We left for Bahir Dar the day after it happened; but of course, when we returned, it still wasn’t fixed. It took one week to be fixed, with very little help from the city workers (we had to hire our neighbor boy to dig out the pipe so the city could see it, because they arrived and said, “Where is it?” then lazily left). Thankfully, we can hopefully shower today after 7 days of dirtiness; we only had to live out of a bucket, and fetch water, for 2 ½ days. Could’ve been much worse. But I sure miss construction and city laws in the U.S. Why should our landlord have to pay and hound the city workers to fix what they broke in the first place? What was once unbelievable is now the expected, ridiculous norm.

The Hunger Games: Peace Corps version

*Preface: If you haven't read the series, this satire may not make as much sense or trigger as much laughter. But sure, read it anyway:

We started with 70 volunteers. As we sat in the terminal, waiting to leave the capital, some volunteers said final goodbyes on phones in the corners of the room. The rest of us sat eyeing each other. Just as we did the previous evening. The previous day and a half were spent in last-minute prep, training, and eating as much as we possibly could. While we were still safe, in a place where food is easy to come by and still tastes like home. So we traveled in packs across the capital, enjoying in dim lighting what we knew would be one of our last good meals. But even then, we were stealing peaks from the corners of our vision whenever we had the chance, studying our peers and asking ourselves, “Will he make it? What District is she from? How long will she last?” We knew the statistic too well: after two years, ten percent of the group who arrived in the capital together would be finished, gone. At our five-month mark, we had already reached that ten percent: seven gone.

Kerry was the first one to go. I remember meeting her in the training center in the capital, catching her name tag as I came out of a restroom, and sitting beside her again as we all waited in the terminal the next day. She had graduated only two weeks before. It was my first time meeting someone from her District: Delaware. I know now that all Delaware people must be lovely. At least now, they’re 1 for 1. Kerry was our immediate favorite, and we were delighted when she was placed in our smaller training group of ten. So early in the Games, we forgot we should be careful about getting too close to the others; it was difficult to remember we wouldn’t all come home together. The morning Kerry left, one month later, we all tried hiding our tears. She was too sick to stay, but she didn’t want to return to the capital. As we said goodbye, she remembered my telling her awhile back that I couldn’t handle the pillows the Gamemakers gave us. In the arena, I would fall asleep by inflating a tiny travel pillow my sister gave me before I left, and wrapping it in a comfortable sweatshirt. That’s when it happened. Kerry handed me her own pillow from home. This meant more to me than she’d ever know.

The others we lost by choice: they had enough of the harassment in the arena, the discomfort, the distance from family and significant others, the issues and needs that the sponsors wouldn’t fix and the Gamemakers ignored: like adequate shelter. We do miss them, especially when a favorite leaves, someone we’ve grown close to. And it’s difficult to imagine them among friends and family now, in their comfortable homes with full refrigerators, when we’ve only known them in the loneliness and hardship of the arena.

As we sat in the terminal that day, I wasn’t eyeing the strangers from other Districts. I sat stealing glances at the man across from me, the one I came with. I was overwhelmed with relief and thanks that I wasn’t alone and had him here with me. Only three other sets of volunteers came in pairs, four couples. Everyone else was heading into the arena alone. As I watched him, the person I know and love best in the world, I wondered his thoughts. “Is he nervous? Excited? Regretting we came?” I grabbed his hand (something we wouldn’t be allowed to do in the arena) and we decided to find breakfast. Our last meal in the capital, where meals still come by standing in lines. In retrospect, I would’ve put more cream cheese on that bagel. It was the last time I would eat that creamy delight for 365 days, and I knew it, but in those days I was still too shy and weak to ask the Avox for an extra container. But we enjoyed it. We mentioned our fears, worries, and the thrill of it all, with full, sticky mouths. I told him what a comfort it was to be with him. Before we left, my grandmother instructed him to take care of me, protect me in every way he knew how. And I knew that he would, without being asked.

We didn’t eavesdrop on purpose. But two volunteers sat at a table near us, obviously thinking along our lines, and spoke a little too loudly. A crushing reminder that there are others, and that at least seven must go before our time is out.

In the beginning it seemed the Gamemakers were setting traps early, putting certain volunteers at a disadvantage. They told us we could bring 80 pounds from home, whatever we chose. Daniel and I thought strategically, and followed the suggested packing list to a T. We brought cooking supplies that wouldn’t be available in the arena, vegetable and herb seeds to provide our own sustenance, bulky raingear, fabric and sewing supplies, a roll of duct tape, knives. But when we finally unpacked months later, we saw our bags had been rifled through at the terminal. It was likely done by the Peacekeepers, before we boarded the plane. But why they took a pack of wet wipes and our cilantro seeds, we can’t quite understand. Nonetheless, when we reached the capital we were told we could have brought 100 pounds, and several of the volunteers from other Districts did. A last-minute policy change for the benefit of some, and detriment of others. We have a term for those of us who packed light, maybe the highest term of respect among the volunteers: a one-bagger. Those are the volunteers who thought their 80 pounds could only be in one bag, and so they brought much less than they could have. We don’t have a term for the ones who brought everything; one of our favorite volunteers even brought his baseball bat. I’m surprised the Peacekeepers didn’t snatch that one. I suppose the term for him could be fiancé, as he overpacked on supplies, but left his most prized part of himself back in his District.

Only a handful of us are lucky enough to think of the arena in two shifts: we’ll get a few weeks of respite at home with family after one year. Most can’t afford this. But our strategy isn’t one that considers price. We’ll take that respite regardless. Almost every month a baby is born into one of the volunteers’ families back in their Districts, which means the child will be walking before they meet it for the first time. For morale’s sake, we want to meet our own when he turns one.

Living in the arena has actually become comfortable. The shock of our new and difficult surroundings has faded into normalcy, and now our conversations shift to the shock of returning home some day. Do you think we’ll have panic attacks when we step into a grocery store? Will we remember how to speak with people in English? Will we greet every stranger, holding out our right arms to shake theirs, as we support it at the elbow with our left hand—a cultural thing in the arena? Will we get sick by eating too much, too quickly, too richly? And we fear how we’ve changed since leaving the capital. Just yesterday I spoke with a man in the arena, and he said he would meet with me. “Yes, if you are voluntary,” I said in a high-pitched question. Daniel spoke in disapproval: “You probably shouldn’t reinforce his bad English.” The trouble is, it wasn’t intentional. I thought I was speaking normally.

The nightmares have nearly stopped. But just last night I dreamt I was at an 8-table feast, with foods you could never imagine, that I’ve never even seen. Giant sausages and cakes, various varieties of green beans, and drumsticks you could only find on your plate at Medieval Times. Standing in line at one of the tables, in my shock and excitement, I grabbed a piece of chicken and put the whole thing in my mouth, biting into the bone and all. I was confused, you couldn’t blame me. And the night before that I was in the terminal again, perusing donuts and hot dogs. But Daniel tells me the nightmares will stop, and soon I’ll forget the things I long for. While walking in the arena one day, he even told me with a shaky laugh, “I don’t even remember America.” And then I fear for him.

But I think we’re in this for the long haul. The number of couples from the Districts is down to three. But just as those from District Texas are at an advantage in the afternoon heat; the Career volunteers have the advantage of this being their second time in the arena; and the well-trained volunteers who already knew how to read the strange language of the arena before they left the capital are obviously at an advantage—I know I have the greatest advantage. I get Daniel Luttrull. And he gets me.

Homemade Christmas

If you're wondering what a homemade Christmas looks like...

It does the trick. The only regret is that we discovered Meron likes to use our toilet paper roll collection as building blocks, and right now they are in use.
Daniel won't allow the stringing of popcorn in our house because one, it's a waste of food, and two, he threatens to eat it all off the string when I'm not looking.

Below is a photo of our trial run mini-garden. If the veggies/herbs grow fine in this clay-like soil, we will expand.

Have a joyous, seasonal week! Throw a snowball for us. (We are saving up our Ethiopian birr for an artificial snow machine). Well, no. We're not.

From Valentino and Michael Jackson

 We remember when Daniel’s friend Josh came home mid-way through Peace Corps service for a friend’s wedding, from Azjerbaijan, and exclaimed, “Wait! You guys are using internet on your PHONES?!” So we often wonder what’s going on on that other side of the world. Last week we laughed and shook our heads at some music videos playing on MTV at one of our favorite cafes. Two for two: both young men singing in separate music videos had 80’s haircuts; the sides of their heads were shaved, and curly masses of New Kids on the Block Mohawks were flowing out of their scalps. Is that really happening over there, people? Maybe we shouldn’t take select MTV videos as reflections of an entire country—but when two back-to-back curly/puffy American Mohawks air in our café, we naturally grow suspicious. What other weird things are people doing? For humor’s sake, we’re a tad curious.

You should know that while this music video played, a man in his 20s stepped into the café, and addressed us like so; he waited for no answers (which is common), but just rattled off an obviously rehearsed speech:

“Hello you guys. Where are you from? England? (No, America). Are you rich like Bill Gates? You (to Daniel) are beautiful like Michael Jackson. You (to Danielle) are handsome like Valentino something-or-other from Russia. Okay, of course now I leave you.” And he’s gone.

In a previous evening venture to this café we enjoyed our macchiatos while watching MTV’s Teen Cribs. Take our word for it: there is nothing more embarrassing to watch, surrounded by 11 Ethiopian college guys, than a spunky blonde preteen girl guiding you through her parents’ mansion, complete with movie theatre, backyard jungle, swimming pool, hot tub, and toilet with a button panel that includes seat-warming and buttocks-blow-drying options, etc. etc. etc. I consciously averted my fellow patrons’ eyes. I just hope they realize we are not rich like Bill Gates, would never live in anything like that, nor want to. But to watch gross extravagance alongside our poor neighbors was humiliating. Especially when the blonde teenager on the screen was the only other person of our race in the room. I wanted so badly to not be placed in her category of people. I wanted to turn to them and know how to say in Tigrigna, “We’re with you. Like you, we wonder if people have anything better to do with their money.” But they’d probably tell us they’re not with us. It seems they’d reply, much like the woman buying the sailboat in Napoleon Dynamite, “I want that.” Many of them want America, they want mansions. And it seems this is what they think is waiting for us when we return home.

I take that back: it’s perhaps more embarrassing to watch a sexy movie with your parents.

What we realized in Axum, with Mom here, is that it’s not nearly as much fun to be a tourist—experiencing new things, seeing all the sights—than it is to be someone else’s “new thing,” to be that sight others want to see. We laughed so hard as another volunteer, Doug, had to pose for various photos with a stranger. No introduction or even a “How are you?” Just a shoulder hug and long pose as the stranger excitedly passes off his camera and phone to his friend. The same man then held his phone up to my face, and had me smile various times for him.  We’re all like Santa Claus, and our neighbors are all in line behind a green velvety rope. If we could count our awkward laughs in this country! For instance, see below.

Mom’s camel had to wait to rise until this guy left her side. What we thought was a photo shoot for Mom and camel shamelessly became a photo shoot of Mom, camel, and man we don’t know. As I sat on my own camel (a 2-minute stand-still for 10 birr and photos), I felt a cold hand touch my bare leg as I struggled to keep my skirt as far down as it could go (it is incredibly difficult to sit on a camel while wearing a skirt and remain modest). This is my thought process: 1. What is this college-aged guy doing holding my bare leg? 2. What a creeper. 3. How long will he pose for his photos? 4. What will he do with these photos? 5. Too bad I haven’t shaved for a week and a half. But it’s his own fault. 6. He doesn’t even care.

Back to being the sight-seer:

When I spotted a certain 13-year-old in the large crowd of Axum, scurrying to the bus station, I almost peed myself. I shrieked, held my hands out to him, and yelled, “Kabay? Kabay? Universityay, bet timhirtay niustay niustay!” (From where? From where? My university! My small small school!) It may have been the first time the tables were turned: where we, the ferenji, frightened an Ethiopian with our stares and shouts of Tigrigna. He looked stunned, confused, and he awkwardly allowed me to take his photo, staring at me in disbelief as I panted in excitement. Why the excitement? Check out this photo:

Adwa feels a bit more like home, now that Daniel’s mom has been here. In some way it felt like a reassurance that this is actually happening, this is our home, and a home that our family can visit. It was unbelievably good to have her here; suddenly family didn’t feel so far away (just 16 some hours on a plane! It’s magic).

While I was nervous about preparing for and spending Christmas in a place where Christmas isn’t even on December 25 (but January 7), the advent season also has made 52B Adi Haki feel more like home. We have a Christmas tree hanging on our wall—made out of old toilet paper rolls wrapped in green fabric—stockings and wooden snowflakes from Aunt Cheryl and Aunt Sandi that I stitched up fancy-like, and glitter-glued, respectively. These lovely ladies also sent Mom with some red and green construction paper: this girl’s dream. It’s not Christmas without a Christmas countdown chain. (Well, it is, but—let me have this one). Daniel’s parents also prepared for us a beautiful advent “calendar,” with letters from friends, and Christmas poems and anecdotes to read each day. Couple all these things with non-stop carols playing from our Mac, and voila! It’s homey here. Not quite snowy here. But it’s Christmas here. Tonight we have a date with some hot chocolate and It’s a Wonderful Life. That’s because Monday is milk day. (Did we mention we discovered a way to get milk? We buy it from the college’s café, and can do so once a week. This will be easier when we buy a fridge; it requires creativity to drink/cook with an entire liter of milk in one day). Anyway, we’re thankful that rather than overwhelming us with homesickness, Christmastime is making Adwa more like home.

Wins for this week:

1. We successfully cooked and baked with an actual pumpkin, making our own puree for pumpkin bread and pumpkin pancakes—and other savory sides, i.e., failures. The seeds were delicious: Halloween a few months late.

2. We planted a garden! Basil, Oregano, Cilantro, Tomatoes, and Cucumbers. If these grow well, we will expand to growing maybe zucchini, broccoli, radishes, spinach, etc. We made a make-shift stick & rope fence to keep out the family of chickens who roam our yard.

3. Instead of selling full-sized gardening supplies, i.e. hoes, here you buy the important part, or head, of the tool. You find your own stick (this is true DIY, yes?). And so, Daniel fashioned us a hoe from a branch in our yard.

4. We planned to add some compost beneath the soil of our garden, but remembered all the manure lining our yard, which would be better. I put on a latex glove (thank you, PC med kit), walked toward the manure piles and called to Teddy:

DANIELLE: Teddy, kabay? (Teddy, where from?)

TEDDY: Ox. (His grin widens, he lifts his leg, tilts his whole body, and makes a loud farting noise through laughter)

What I wondered was, did they buy it? Were they going to use it for their own garden? Maybe I should’ve asked in Tigrigna: Teddy, why the heck are there piles of manure lining our stone wall? Instead, I received a much better, more hilarious answer, by asking where the manure came from. What followed were five boys grabbing handfuls of warm manure, with their bare hands, as I grabbed some with my gloved hand. Before we rewarded them with bananas for helping us work, Daniel conducted an assembly line of hand-washing at our outdoor faucet.

5. I have my first English Club today, for 30 5^th-8^th graders; and Wednesday I have my first training for teachers, on Continuous Assessment. We are starting to finally feel busy.

6. I was chosen to be co-coordinator of Peace Corps’ International Creative Writing Competition, Ethiopia. Some wise PC volunteer serving in Georgia created this competition a few years ago, to have students from all over the world submit creative writing pieces, via their PC volunteer, to an international pool of stories. We’re excited to work with our students on this! This is right up our favorite alley.

7. Meron now has daily coloring time in our living room. Whenever she sees us, her eyes widen in expectation, and she makes a sketching motion in the air with her hand. It’s a daily joy.

8. I know now that I am as handsome as Valentino so-and-so from Russia, and Daniel as beautiful as the King of Pop.

Things to come: In our next blog we will present you with a way you can become involved in the education of Adwa’s children, if you choose, via book donation.

“I can’t wait to get home!”

“I can’t wait to get home!”  I have heard that many, many times over the years—from our three boys—at the end of a vacation or a long weekend at soccer matches or on the way home from the required attendance at a function where they were sure they would die if they couldn’t leave soon.  “Going home” meant they were free to play in the side yard with the neighbor children, read or ride bikes or do whatever else they couldn’t do while they were away.  They were going home to a place where they were loved, a place of familiarity and a place that was not for just anyone, but was certainly a place for each of them.

Last Saturday night, Daniel and Danielle met me at the Addis Ababa airport.  We spent one night in Addis, and on Sunday morning flew to Axum, where we spent the day seeing the sites of this ancient place, including the resting place of the Ark of the Covenant, the tomb of King Balthazar, the haunts of the Queen of Sheba, and numerous monstrous obelisks, not unlike the standing stones in Scotland and England.

Now I must preface this next comment with these words:  It was not Daniel and Danielle’s fault that we spent our night in Axum in mosquito-infested rooms.  So dirty!  They asked another PC volunteer who lives in Axum to make our reservations.  And obviously, that friend’s standards are different from ours.  Mid-way through the night Danielle called out, “I want to die!”  I was reminded of a book that I had to read for one of my sociology classes in college entitled, None of These Diseases.  I decided I could write the sequel, which I would entitle, All of These Diseases.  Because I was pretty sure in the middle of the night, with the music blaring in the streets and the mosquitoes buzzing around my head, that All of These Diseases was happening to me.  We did wake up the next morning, and we got on a “bus” and headed for the village of Adwa, Daniel and Danielle’s home for the next two years.  This bus was a twelve passenger rusted van, crammed with 19 people and our luggage, strapped on top.  The kids had been gone from their Adwa home for more than two weeks.  As we got outside of Axum, the driver weaving around goats, donkeys, other absolutely crazy drivers, and lots of children walking to school, we could begin to see the splendid mountains that encompass Adwa.  I was sitting beside Daniel.  He and Danielle were happy to see their beautiful countryside once again and happy that they were going back to Adwa.  That’s when I heard Daniel say those words.  He said them under his breath, but with the same excitement and longing that he had as a twelve-year-boy.  “I can’t wait to get home!”  Not surprisingly, this mom’s eyes filled with tears as I heard those words once again, so grateful that our kids have found a place, a home, eight thousand miles from their most familiar one.  And what a lovely home they have made for themselves here in Adwa, Ethiopia!  God has certainly been gracious and abundantly kind, giving them loving neighbors, and colleagues at their respective schools who have welcomed them so warmly.

Adwa—40,000 people, living side-by-side-by-side, down dirt roads which would be great if they were simply dirt roads.  But these roads are riddled with sharp rocks—some big and some small—that poke at your feet.  (Makes me think of another sequel: No Country for Old Women.)  A souk is a small store that sells foods and soaps and other necessities.  And if they don’t have yeast today, they may not have eggs tomorrow.  If the owner of the souk is your neighbor, then his home, which is also his store, is right next to yours.  Most likely, he and his family sleep behind the store shelves.  Danielle has her favorite souks, and can usually find all they need by going first to one and then to the next.  These are one-room houses with mud floors, no running water or windows or electricity.  Reading the account of the annunciation and the travels of Mary and Joseph, the shepherds and wise men, makes sense here.  Looks like it all could have unfolded yesterday, in this little town of Adwa.

On Wednesday, I went with Danielle to one of her elementary schools, where we observed a preschool class of 42 children, taught by a young and energetic teacher named Helen.  These five-year-olds were learning English.  And they were happy to show us all they were learning.  Then Thursday, we went to another of Danielle’s schools, a boarding school for blind children.  This time it was second grade and another English class.  The students ranged in age from five to nineteen.  Their classroom was a tiny one—no door, a dirt floor, corrugated metal walls, the students sitting with their Braille tablets, and me, crying in the corner.  When we arrived, one of the teachers explained that there is a lot of shame that accompanies blindness here.  What beautiful work is done at this school.  These attentive and patient teachers are giving these young people many gifts, including the dignity that accompanies learning.  Each of these young people knows more English words than I know Tigrigna.

The Grimkils—the family that lives next to the Luttrulls.  Grimkil is the name of the father of the family, and serves as the guard of Daniel and Danielle’s home and large yard, just as his father and his father before him, have done.  Grimkil’s oldest son, Samuel, helps his father with his guard duties.  About seven months ago, Grimkil went blind.  So sad, but such a loving and lovely family!  So gentle and kind-hearted, you couldn’t ask for better neighbors!  Their home is about the size of my kitchen.  Dirt floor, no window and home to Grimkil, his wife Missalal, Samuel (15), Luam (13), Teddy (11), Meron (4) and a hen in the corner, laying and hatching eggs.  Because of the size of their home and the size of their growing family, Grimkil, Samuel and Teddy sleep in a room in the D’s yard, just outside the D’s window.  The family was overjoyed to see Daniel and Danielle return home from their two weeks away.  Missalal hosted a coffee ceremony for us.  It was so touching to see her work so hard to honor us with coffee.  I brought glow sticks and bubbles for the Grimkil kids.  It was fun to watch them in the darkness throw the glow sticks high in the air and then hear their joy as the sticks rained down like fireworks.

We had an early Friday morning.  Got up at 4:45 to catch a 5:30am bus leaving the college for Axum and the Hidar Tsion celebrations there. What an experience these buses are! Probably left Adwa around 6:20.  Halfway to Axum, a man standing in the middle of the roadway motioned for our bus to pull over to the side.  Then a very serious border police came aboard and asked everyone on the bus (but not the white people) for their ID.  Checking for aliens from Eritrea.  Hidar Tsion is a yearly holy day, celebrating Mary, to whom the historic church in Axum is dedicated.  Some say 200,000 pilgrims descend upon Axum, a town of 50,000.  Seas and seas of people, all dressed in white. We got to Axum and followed the crowds, all of them heading for St Mary's.  We walked around the church and past all the pilgrims coming and going and begging and eating and resting.  We decided to exit the churchyard through an open gate leading to the obelisks, because we could tell that there was something happening out there.  Throngs and throngs of people were trying to get through the eight-foot-wide gate.  Some coming in and some going out.  So much pushing and shoving!  Daniel got spun totally around, 360 degrees. I think some of my friends would have had a panic attack.  We really couldn't control our movement, we just went as the crowd pushed.  I felt like we were traveling down the birth canal, and was sure that Kate was in labor and we were all channeling her experience—there was this remarkable pressure from the front and the sides, and then this big push from the back and finally, after a few of those, we were through the gate.

Some shepherds brought their camels and parked them in front of the obelisks.  For ten birr (60 cents) you could sit on a camel and get your picture—so we all did. Gracious, it was ridiculous.  First of all, you get on the camel and then the beast stands up, but not without some movement back to front, and front to back.  Think of a rocking chair that almost tips over backwards, and then nearly throws you on your nose going forwards. Do that a couple of times and the camel is standing up.  Now imagine the shrieks from me and the camel answering me with this strange growl of sorts and craning his long neck back to look my way. I tried to pat him as if to say "there, their, they're," and he scolded me with an angry growl, showing his large yellow teeth.  A few more shrieks and now all the Ethiopians are looking at me on this camel, and I'm laughing, and they are all laughing at me, and they are all taking my picture.  Then repeat the entire process as the camel folds his legs back up and lays on the ground.  A m a z i n g !

After all the excitement, we walked around Axum and got in on a couple of processions with the priests and crosses and lots of chanting until about 12:30, when we returned the same way we came, nearly rear-ending another bus that had come to a total stop on the roadway.

Oh, and by the way, Daniel and Danielle would want me to relate that I was interviewed for a segment on Ethiopian TV (or ETV, as we like to call it over here.)  The correspondent wanted me to talk about my impressions of the festivities and how I would suggest that they could increase tourism to Axum. He got my credentials, Debra Luttrull from Indianapolis, Indiana USA.

Saturday night on the way to church, we met the obituary bicycle man.  And we met lots of children who most likely watch Daniel and Danielle each week as they walk through town to church.  Many of them called out to Daniel, “Sister, sister!”  They must think Daniel is a monk from Don Bosco Catholic Church, but they are confused in more ways than one.  What a lovely service, led by a visiting priest from Italy.  So the mass that is typically led by an Ethopian in English, for Italian congregants who speak English with a thick accent, was tonight a mass in Italian, with the singing led by an Italian nun, in English.  A friend of Daniel and Danielle’s, Brother Fabio, sat behind us.  This congregation has welcomed Daniel and Danielle.  Don Bosco’s Catholic Church is now their church, proving true the words to this great hymn:  “In Christ there is no East or West, in Him no South or North, but one great fellowship of love, throughout the whole wide earth!”  Thanks be to God!  It was dark and the air was cool as we walked home from church.  But the sky was filled with thousands of bright stars.  Growing up in Kansas where the stars shine brightly, still I had never seen such a nighttime sky!

When we arrived back home, we got the news from Andrew, that Kate had delivered a precious baby boy.  They gave him the beautiful name Samuel James.  Everyday this week, the Grimkils had been asking us if the baby had come yet.  They were so happy when we hurried to their home and told them the news and that the baby was given the same name as their oldest son.  There was lots of excitement in a language that I couldn’t understand, but somehow I knew every word of what they said.

Sunday we went to our second coffee ceremony, hosted by another sweet neighbor.  Near the end of our two-hour coffee, she wanted me to know that her brother lives in Sydney, Australia.  She then fetched a large envelope that was addressed to her brother, but she let me know that she didn’t seal the envelope, just in case the authorities at the airport wanted to see the contents.  I was following her reasoning, saying things like “uh-huh” and “I see.”  And then she said that she had already told her brother that I will be traveling to Sydney this week. “Oh!” I said.  “You would like me to deliver this to your brother.”  “Yes!” she said. “He knows you are coming, and will be expecting a call from you.  See, I have written his telephone number on the envelope.”  I looked at Daniel and Danielle and said something about feeling like Bilbo Baggins, and we were laughing, and I was hoping our hostess couldn’t understand our conversation, and that she just thought that I was happy to do her bidding.

So in the morning I will leave this wonderful place, with a grateful heart.  I am so thankful to have been able to visit Daniel and Danielle and see the good work that they are doing here.  I leave with the words of the Grimkils in my ears as we said our goodbyes.  “Peaceful road.  Beautiful road."

 Samuel here I come!