by Cheryl Lovejoy
Tuesday, August 19th, 2008
The first time we went to the Entoto Community Center, we got to look through and purchase the beautiful jewelry made by the men and women in the Entoto job creation program. Then we had the privelege of meeting the jewelry makers up close and personal. As I entered the room, I wanted to make a connection with them so I thought I'd try out one of my few Amharic phrases. "Conjo, conjo" (beautiful) I told them, and pointed to the jewelry. And then I really went for it and told them "Conjo nesh!" (you are beautiful!). Probably didn't get it quite right as they burst out laughing in response.
An hour or two later, we were driven up Entoto mountain to visit the homes of the families involved in the program. It was a cold, rainy afternoon and I was bundled up in all of the layers (five layers!) I'd packed in my suitcase and I still felt chilly. As we entered the first little tarp-covered neighborhood, some members of our team were invited into the homes and others engaged with the children or with a little kitten standing in one of the doorways. The homes were surrounded by a grove of eucalyptus trees and I wandered off a bit to look up at them. As I stood there, I heard a voice by my side say, "conjo, conjo!" There was mischief in the voice and as I turned to see who was there, I recognized the face of one of the women I'd just met in the jewelry-making program. Sure enough, she had a big grin and was enjoying repeating back to me my feeble attempts at Amharic. My new friend invited me to enter her one room home. It was probably 8 feet by 8 feet and most of it was taken up with her bed. The walls were decorated with magazine clippings and newspapers and the room had a cozy, cheerful feel to it. As we talked, she told me her name was Zaudi. Before leaving, I nicknamed her "Zaudi Arabia" and that cracked her up.
Walking back to the van in the light rain, I got to think about Zaudi and our interaction. If Zaudi, who lives in a one room tarp-covered home on Entoto mountain, without access to running water or regular electricity, and whose life is impacted by AIDS can greet me with laughter and good cheer, then surely happiness is almost always accessible to me.
God, please bless Zaudi. Thank you for the joy that she shares with others. Thank you for her laughter. Please help her to have the strength she needs each day. Please provide for her needs. Please give her many reasons for joy and may she continue to be cause for gladness in others.
Tuesday, August 19th, 2008
The first time we went to the Entoto Community Center, we got to look through and purchase the beautiful jewelry made by the men and women in the Entoto job creation program. Then we had the privelege of meeting the jewelry makers up close and personal. As I entered the room, I wanted to make a connection with them so I thought I'd try out one of my few Amharic phrases. "Conjo, conjo" (beautiful) I told them, and pointed to the jewelry. And then I really went for it and told them "Conjo nesh!" (you are beautiful!). Probably didn't get it quite right as they burst out laughing in response.
An hour or two later, we were driven up Entoto mountain to visit the homes of the families involved in the program. It was a cold, rainy afternoon and I was bundled up in all of the layers (five layers!) I'd packed in my suitcase and I still felt chilly. As we entered the first little tarp-covered neighborhood, some members of our team were invited into the homes and others engaged with the children or with a little kitten standing in one of the doorways. The homes were surrounded by a grove of eucalyptus trees and I wandered off a bit to look up at them. As I stood there, I heard a voice by my side say, "conjo, conjo!" There was mischief in the voice and as I turned to see who was there, I recognized the face of one of the women I'd just met in the jewelry-making program. Sure enough, she had a big grin and was enjoying repeating back to me my feeble attempts at Amharic. My new friend invited me to enter her one room home. It was probably 8 feet by 8 feet and most of it was taken up with her bed. The walls were decorated with magazine clippings and newspapers and the room had a cozy, cheerful feel to it. As we talked, she told me her name was Zaudi. Before leaving, I nicknamed her "Zaudi Arabia" and that cracked her up.
Walking back to the van in the light rain, I got to think about Zaudi and our interaction. If Zaudi, who lives in a one room tarp-covered home on Entoto mountain, without access to running water or regular electricity, and whose life is impacted by AIDS can greet me with laughter and good cheer, then surely happiness is almost always accessible to me.
God, please bless Zaudi. Thank you for the joy that she shares with others. Thank you for her laughter. Please help her to have the strength she needs each day. Please provide for her needs. Please give her many reasons for joy and may she continue to be cause for gladness in others.
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