I Wish You Could Hear What I've Heard

The window was blackened by the night. No moon shone and the power was out. I had wakened briefly in the middle of the night. As I tried to get my bearings (what bed was I in tonight?) outside I heard  aaaahwoop, aaaahwoop!  Oh yes, Dembi Dollo! A lonely hyena roamed the hillside past the guesthouse at Bethel Evangelical Secondary School where I was staying. When I was five (and even 15!) I would dive under my covers and plug up my ears. It is an eerie call. And hyenas are big, and ugly, and scary. But tonight I smiled. A place I have called home. I was at peace.
Then as the window turned grew with the first light of morning, waa waa waa (you've gotta say that while breathing in); a colobus monkey in a nearby tree announced the start of the new day. The Granddaddy of a troupe in the distance answered the call. I snuggled down for another half hour or so. 
A little bit later with the sun lighting up the whole room, I heard the antiphonal call of rainbirds outside. Hoo hoo. Chirrrr. I knew it was time to rouse myself for the activities of the day, but before I could roll myself over an ibis that must have been pecking with its long curved bill in the soft soil below my window, let out an obnoxious caw, caw, caw and flapped its way up to the branches of a nearby tree. All I could do was smile and soak in the sounds.

Typed out descriptions of sounds don't do them justice, though. I wish you could hear what I've heard.

When I was ready I put on my sweater and stepped outside into the fresh crisp morning air. Recent rains had turned the crackling brown leaves and grass of dry season into lush and thick shades of green. I stepped into the dining room. In the clear, pure Afaan Oromo (mouth/language of Oromo) of Western Wollega my host asked if I had spent the night in peace as she pointed to my place for breakfast. 

Over the next several days, I heard a lot of Oromo language. I went to Dembi Dollo to visit friends, to see people who had known me and who had known Michael. I went to try to understand how church decisions might have affected the relationships we had developed, relationships my family and others had developed over the past century. Since Michael's death, I've felt like a kite without a string. I wondered if there might be a string to attach to in Ethiopia somewhere. I went representing myself to connect to old friends and maybe new ones.

I wish you could have heard what I heard. 

My kids and I had directed funds given in Michael's memory to Gidada Theological College, where Michael had spent most of a decade teaching and encouraging dreams to grow. We made no stipulations. We demanded no report. I had heard that a much-needed meeting hall would be built. I didn't know the timeline of progress. My plans to visit were fairly spontaneous and unannounced. 

When I arrived in Dembi Dollo I knew there would be a service of dedication of the new building. I had no part in the plans for the service. I went where I was directed when I was directed to go. After breakfast the synod car picked me up along with some other visitors staying at the guesthouse and took us over a couple hills to the synod compound where the Gidada Theological College is. 

As we climbed out of the car a procession of officially garbed church leaders processed towards us. I was properly greeted by several friends. And then they pushed me forward and we processed to the building that had recently been completed singing Harii Gamachudhaa (today is joyful). A banner with a picture of Michael taken from the internet hung on the building announcing the Michael Weller Memorial Hall. Another one with pictures of me and my children (also from the internet when we were all much younger) announced our gift to the school. 

I was greeted by people along the walkway with the traditional back-and-forth-cheek-to-cheek kisses. Friends from many years ago added a prolonged embrace, pulling me close, whispering words of comfort in my ear, and wiping their eyes as we released. I wish you could have heard the unsolicited sympathy, gratitude, and joy. 

I wish you could have heard the joyful singing. 

I wish you could experience the sincerity of a long-time relationship across cultures and through different languages.

The three-hour dedication service included several speeches. I heard the history of the coming of the missionaries from South Sudan. A picture of Dr. Thomas Lambie, the cantankerous, adventure-seeking Presbyterian evangelist and medical doctor who moved his family from South Sudan to Ethiopia in response to a call from the governor in Sayyo (now Dembi Dollo) hangs in one of the offices. I heard about the start of the Sayyo Training Institute, where my father and others taught community elders church leadership. I heard about people who had heard the Good News at the hospital where my grandfather had served shortly after Dr. Lambie had built it and moved on to other places. I heard words of overflowing thanks for Michael's servant-leadership at what was then Gidada Bible School. 

The words I heard contradict the message pouring out from the leadership of my church, the PCUSA, - that my presence and the presence of previous Americans in Ethiopia was a work of colonialism, that Michael and I should not have been here and that relating ecumenically (in other words head office to head office) is a better way to relate. 

Some phrases and comments I've heard:

Praise to God! Glory to God! We are so thankful for your coming!
You are ours! Next time bring your children to see the work that your family has started. 
We are family together. We need you to be with us. Your being with us is a blessing - not for money, but to share ideas and fellowship.
We have not ceased to pray for you. We did not forget you. We kept praying. We prayed for your return with us.
In reference to the early missionaries: "We know the hardship they endured," they said. "We are very happy for their coming to not only to tell us but also to show us the way of the Gospel." 

I wish you would hear what I've heard. 

I was asked about Sharon. Sharon Kandel. They know her name but needed to be prompted to remember her title: PCUSA Regional Liaison for the Horn of Africa. Sharon was fired last year along with the other mission co-workers. "What happened?" they asked me. "She heard us and understood us. She gave us good advice. She was open and honest with us." 

I was asked why she doesn't come or communicate any more. Of course, there has been some amount of communication since the firings, but my friends really wonder what would cause the administration to cut off a good relationship. Their brow-furrowing confusion was clear: "No. We work in partnership. There was no colonialism." One former colleague bumped his fists together as he remembered a conversation with Michael. "We had tough discussions; we argued," he said. "That is how partners work." 

During my visits in Gambella, with its connections to South Sudan where Presbyterians began work under the colonial rule of Great Britain, as well as in Dembi Dollo, Ethiopia, a country proud of it's complete independence from colonial takeover, I heard story after story of American Presbyterians who had spent decades in small villages teaching about a good God who has a good plan for every people group of the world. In Gambella they told stories about Doriam (Rob Mclaughlin), Man Ping (Chuck Jordan), and Nyakon (Connie Hall) and Odon (Don McClure). In Dembi Dollo they mentioned Dr. Lambie, Miss McCreery, Mr. Vandevort and Jo Ann Griffith. 

I wish you cou have heard the stories I heard.

Obbo Dhugaasa Beyene told me the story of how he came from Gidame, some distance north of Dembi Dollo, where he was raised in the Ethiopian Orthodox church (which worshipped and taught in the untranslated ancient Ge'ez language). His experience as a student at the mission secondary school (the one where I am staying this week) showed him examples of what God had called people to do and be. He returned to Dembi Dollo, after successfully completing college, to work with the church and continue that tradition. "I saw that this is what it means to be a child of God. To use your gifts and talents to show (his emphasis) others the way. No," he said, "there has never been a colonial attitude from the missionaries here."

My visit was planned as part of my own healing as I continue to mourn the early loss of my husband and companion of forty years. It was poorly communicated because I didn't come to get or do anything in particular. I hoped to understand how my friends now viewed the relationship of PCUSA mission work with their own. 

All I heard were words of gratitude and sincere thanks. "We are one family and you are our ambassador." "We want to always remember our Presbyterian heritage' - even though their own leadership finds it difficult to continue an official relationship due to theological differences about marital relationships.

I haven't quite figured out what my role will be, but clearly there is room for cross-cultural work for Presbyterian Americans to participate in. 

I was overwhelmed with gratitude and love. I was overwhelmed by generosity and kindness. 

No one from the PCUSA leadership is likely to read this. But this is a message of invitation to all Presbyterians (and others!) to continue the life changing cross-cultural work of Kingdom building. It would be nice to have the support of "Louisville". There is a call - "Come over to Ethiopia".

I hope you hear that call.