Today was a day that will live in all our memories for a long time. This morning we returned to the Sendafa villages one last time to dedicate the three hand-dug wells that were built there over past the ten days.

 

First we went to the Lotole well. This one was most significant to me because it was on this well that we had done the most actual physical labor, gathering rocks from the nearby fields to help construct the base. Like all three of the wells, it was now complete with a shiny metal pumphead, a sturdy wooden fence to keep the animals away, and a stone tablet with the dedication:

WATER TO THRIVE

BUILD WELLS — CHANGE LIVES

 

LOTOLE HAND DUG WELL

 

ABIDING PRESENCE LUTHERAN CHURCH

SAN ANTONIO, TEXAS

 

CONSTRUCTED BY THE OROMIA DEVELOPMENT ASSOCIATION,

WATER TO THRIVE AND THE COMMUNITY

 

Most of the 40-some local people gathered to witness the opening were were men and boys; as usual, the women and girls were either back at home tending to chores, or at school if they were lucky enough to be enrolled. However, one tiny ten-year-old girl, whose job in the family is to gather the water, had decided that she would skip her classes today to see the opening of this new marvel. She unexpectedly found herself the center of attention as she became one of the first to draw water from this new clean supply. She was very shy at first, but relented to having her picture taken dozens of times as she pumped water into her 15-gallon jug.

 

Then Lane, our budding ambassador, offered to carry it back home for her. You could see that she found this rather shocking, but agreed and helped him to wrap the heavy jug in the cloth she had brought and place it on his back. They started back for her family’s compound, about half a mile up a hill across a rock-strewn field, looking quite the pair as he towered over her. The older and "larger" of us struggled to keep up their pace, while teasing Lane that he was probably now engaged. Lane later admitted that he was having a hard time climbing the hill, too, and couldn’t imagine how such a little girl made the trip carrying such a load every day, especially since before the well, she had gone about three times as far.

 

We reached the compound and were welcomed in by the women and girls there, who seemed excited to have been included in the day’s events. One of them was an old woman of 84, the matriarch of the family. We learned that the young girl we had met was actually her grand-daughter (we suspect that the translation was probably great-granddaughter or great-great-granddaughter) whose own mother and father lived in a different compound a mile or two away, but who had been sent there to take care of the old woman. Grandmother seemed a bit wary of all the attention, but welcomed us into her home.

 

Like most of the dozen or so buildings, it was a square structure about fifteen feet across, built of mud slathered over sticks of wood. The roof was made of thatch over wooden frames, with an earthenware chimney over the peak to block the rain while letting out smoke from their cooking fires (fueled by the patties of dried cow dung we had seen piled high outside.) Along the sides, dirt "shelves" about eighteen inches high and deep serve as seating, storage for their few belongings, and a place to sleep (although there was also an old mattress leaning against the wall that would have been placed on the floor at night.) There was a large round wooden bin that we were told held grain, a large clay ewer that we suppose holds the water after it is brought, a traditional Ethiopian coffee pot and a few dishes, and some scattered pieces of clothing. A wooden door and a single rag-covered window, and that’s the way the woman has lived her 84 years.

 

Her son, who could speak a bit of English, was eager to show us his son’s home. It was rectangular, a bit larger than the grandmother’s house, with a second room set apart by a sheet. Several photos were tacked to the mud wall, including one the man proudly pointed out of himself as an Addis Abeba policeman (obviously taken several decades ago.) He explained that his son is one of the men on the well council that the ODA sets up for each site (probably one of the men we had seen at the well.) I asked about some fire-scorched triangular frameworks leaning against an outside wall of the house, and he explained that they roof pieces that had been salvaged from another house, and that his son was soon going to use them to begin construction on a home next door for his mother-in-law.

 

As it was time to go on to the next well, we took final photos of the family and expressed our thanks and goodbyes, using the very few words of Amharic that we have learned. Unfortunately, we found out that most of the people in that area speak Oromic, one of the other 80 languages used in Ethiopia. Only those who have spent time in Addis Abeba (like the old policeman) have learned much if any Amharic, much less English.

 

The second site, the Chebseta well, was dedicated to the memory of John and Viola Opella, Meredith’s grandmother, and the in-laws of Dick Meuller, Water to Thrive’s founder. It was at this site that the ODA had planned the big ceremony. Over a hundred of the local people came, many dressed in what were obviously the finest clothes they owned, some even arriving on horseback for the special occasion. A ribbon was tied across the gate in the fence, and cut by Meredith. The ODA presented each of us with a beautiful shirt made in the traditional Ethiopian style. Each member of the ODA administration made a short speech, as did Mike and Meredith (the local boys, not interested in waiting for Nazif’s translations, fought over the wrapping paper from our shirts until a local man twisted one’s ear.)

 

Most of the local people had gathered close to watch the dedication, but I noticed that one woman had decided she wasn’t interested, and had climbed down into the dirty spring site they had always used, and begun filling her large water jugs, using an empty paint can to scoop up the contaminated water. One of the ODA people translated for me when I asked why; it turned out she had thought that she could not use the well for a few days yet. The council had told everyone that there would have to be training first. That’s technically true, but we decided that with all of us there we could bend the rules for today.  I invited her up, and she was glad to come up and try out the new pump. (I also emptied one of the jugs she had already filled, which must have weighed a good fifty pounds; she carries two of those every day.)

 

The third and final Sendafa site was the "SERDO HAND-DUG WELL, WATER FOR THE CHILDREN, IN HONOR OF ANN MITCHAM – MOTHER’S DAY 2012." (Mitcham was a dear family friend of the Meuller’s.)  There was much less ceremony at this site, but as at the other two wells, several women "dropped in" to the dedication, pleased to shorten their trips and fill their jugs from the new well.

 

All of us on the Water to Thrive team were completely overwhelmed by what we saw today, the contrast of heartbreaking poverty with warm hospitality and friendship that we were shown by the people of Sendafa. The new wells, serving over 640 people, will provide water that is not only more convenient, but which will drastically reduce the incidence of water-borne disease in the happy laughing children, quite literally changing many of their lives. Once the sites were confirmed by ODA’s hydrologist, to bring these three wells to fruition took only ten days and 200,000 birr, or about $12,000. To see the joy on the people’s faces from something so simple for us to give, something we so take for granted, is not something I will ever forget.

 

After returning to the hotel, most of the group retired to their rooms. Bobbie and I walked to the nearby Bole Medhane Alem (Savior of the World) Cathedral, the biggest church in Africa (and the source of the early morning prayer calls I’ve been hearing.) Although it was closed, we were granted a grand tour by Fre, a young man studying to become an Orthodox priest. Learning I was a Lutheran, he quizzed me on what I was seeing in the many elaborate paintings and frescoes that decorate the sanctuary; I passed his test, but I was glad he hadn’t asked about the more obscure saints shown.  I think he was a bit scandalized to hear we have a female pastor, but we decided that, at least as far as religion goes, we have more in common than not.

 

After walking around a bit more, we headed back to the hotel and met with the others and with our ODA friends for a farewell dinner at the Beer Garden. Tomorrow before dawn, the six of us will fly west to Gondor, the next leg of our adventure.

-Dohna’hun, Larry

Today was a day that will live in all our memories for a long time. This morning we returned to the Sendafa villages one last time to dedicate the three hand-dug wells that were built there over past the ten days.

 

First we went to the Lotole well. This one was most significant to me because it was on this well that we had done the most actual physical labor, gathering rocks from the nearby fields to help construct the base. Like all three of the wells, it was now complete with a shiny metal pumphead, a sturdy wooden fence to keep the animals away, and a stone tablet with the dedication:

WATER TO THRIVE

BUILD WELLS — CHANGE LIVES

 

LOTOLE HAND DUG WELL

 

ABIDING PRESENCE LUTHERAN CHURCH

SAN ANTONIO, TEXAS

 

CONSTRUCTED BY THE OROMIA DEVELOPMENT ASSOCIATION,

WATER TO THRIVE AND THE COMMUNITY

 

Most of the 40-some local people gathered to witness the opening were were men and boys; as usual, the women and girls were either back at home tending to chores, or at school if they were lucky enough to be enrolled. However, one tiny ten-year-old girl, whose job in the family is to gather the water, had decided that she would skip her classes today to see the opening of this new marvel. She unexpectedly found herself the center of attention as she became one of the first to draw water from this new clean supply. She was very shy at first, but relented to having her picture taken dozens of times as she pumped water into her 15-gallon jug.

 

Then Lane, our budding ambassador, offered to carry it back home for her. You could see that she found this rather shocking, but agreed and helped him to wrap the heavy jug in the cloth she had brought and place it on his back. They started back for her family’s compound, about half a mile up a hill across a rock-strewn field, looking quite the pair as he towered over her. The older and "larger" of us struggled to keep up their pace, while teasing Lane that he was probably now engaged. Lane later admitted that he was having a hard time climbing the hill, too, and couldn’t imagine how such a little girl made the trip carrying such a load every day, especially since before the well, she had gone about three times as far.

 

We reached the compound and were welcomed in by the women and girls there, who seemed excited to have been included in the day’s events. One of them was an old woman of 84, the matriarch of the family. We learned that the young girl we had met was actually her grand-daughter (we suspect that the translation was probably great-granddaughter or great-great-granddaughter) whose own mother and father lived in a different compound a mile or two away, but who had been sent there to take care of the old woman. Grandmother seemed a bit wary of all the attention, but welcomed us into her home.

 

Like most of the dozen or so buildings, it was a square structure about fifteen feet across, built of mud slathered over sticks of wood. The roof was made of thatch over wooden frames, with an earthenware chimney over the peak to block the rain while letting out smoke from their cooking fires (fueled by the patties of dried cow dung we had seen piled high outside.) Along the sides, dirt "shelves" about eighteen inches high and deep serve as seating, storage for their few belongings, and a place to sleep (although there was also an old mattress leaning against the wall that would have been placed on the floor at night.) There was a large round wooden bin that we were told held grain, a large clay ewer that we suppose holds the water after it is brought, a traditional Ethiopian coffee pot and a few dishes, and some scattered pieces of clothing. A wooden door and a single rag-covered window, and that’s the way the woman has lived her 84 years.

 

Her son, who could speak a bit of English, was eager to show us his son’s home. It was rectangular, a bit larger than the grandmother’s house, with a second room set apart by a sheet. Several photos were tacked to the mud wall, including one the man proudly pointed out of himself as an Addis Abeba policeman (obviously taken several decades ago.) He explained that his son is one of the men on the well council that the ODA sets up for each site (probably one of the men we had seen at the well.) I asked about some fire-scorched triangular frameworks leaning against an outside wall of the house, and he explained that they roof pieces that had been salvaged from another house, and that his son was soon going to use them to begin construction on a home next door for his mother-in-law.

 

As it was time to go on to the next well, we took final photos of the family and expressed our thanks and goodbyes, using the very few words of Amharic that we have learned. Unfortunately, we found out that most of the people in that area speak Oromic, one of the other 80 languages used in Ethiopia. Only those who have spent time in Addis Abeba (like the old policeman) have learned much if any Amharic, much less English.

 

The second site, the Chebseta well, was dedicated to the memory of John and Viola Opella, Meredith’s grandmother, and the in-laws of Dick Meuller, Water to Thrive’s founder. It was at this site that the ODA had planned the big ceremony. Over a hundred of the local people came, many dressed in what were obviously the finest clothes they owned, some even arriving on horseback for the special occasion. A ribbon was tied across the gate in the fence, and cut by Meredith. The ODA presented each of us with a beautiful shirt made in the traditional Ethiopian style. Each member of the ODA administration made a short speech, as did Mike and Meredith (the local boys, not interested in waiting for Nazif’s translations, fought over the wrapping paper from our shirts until a local man twisted one’s ear.)

 

Most of the local people had gathered close to watch the dedication, but I noticed that one woman had decided she wasn’t interested, and had climbed down into the dirty spring site they had always used, and begun filling her large water jugs, using an empty paint can to scoop up the contaminated water. One of the ODA people translated for me when I asked why; it turned out she had thought that she could not use the well for a few days yet. The council had told everyone that there would have to be training first. That’s technically true, but we decided that with all of us there we could bend the rules for today.  I invited her up, and she was glad to come up and try out the new pump. (I also emptied one of the jugs she had already filled, which must have weighed a good fifty pounds; she carries two of those every day.)

 

The third and final Sendafa site was the "SERDO HAND-DUG WELL, WATER FOR THE CHILDREN, IN HONOR OF ANN MITCHAM – MOTHER’S DAY 2012." (Mitcham was a dear family friend of the Meuller’s.)  There was much less ceremony at this site, but as at the other two wells, several women "dropped in" to the dedication, pleased to shorten their trips and fill their jugs from the new well.

 

All of us on the Water to Thrive team were completely overwhelmed by what we saw today, the contrast of heartbreaking poverty with warm hospitality and friendship that we were shown by the people of Sendafa. The new wells, serving over 640 people, will provide water that is not only more convenient, but which will drastically reduce the incidence of water-borne disease in the happy laughing children, quite literally changing many of their lives. Once the sites were confirmed by ODA’s hydrologist, to bring these three wells to fruition took only ten days and 200,000 birr, or about $12,000. To see the joy on the people’s faces from something so simple for us to give, something we so take for granted, is not something I will ever forget.

 

After returning to the hotel, most of the group retired to their rooms. Bobbie and I walked to the nearby Bole Medhane Alem (Savior of the World) Cathedral, the biggest church in Africa (and the source of the early morning prayer calls I’ve been hearing.) Although it was closed, we were granted a grand tour by Fre, a young man studying to become an Orthodox priest. Learning I was a Lutheran, he quizzed me on what I was seeing in the many elaborate paintings and frescoes that decorate the sanctuary; I passed his test, but I was glad he hadn’t asked about the more obscure saints shown.  I think he was a bit scandalized to hear we have a female pastor, but we decided that, at least as far as religion goes, we have more in common than not.

 

After walking around a bit more, we headed back to the hotel and met with the others and with our ODA friends for a farewell dinner at the Beer Garden. Tomorrow before dawn, the six of us will fly west to Gondor, the next leg of our adventure.

-Dohna’hun, Larry