News from the Bishop in Ethiopia visit to Dimma Christmas 2008

CHRISTMAS 2008 in DIMMA MISSION CENTRE.
Andrew and Janice Proud
Monday 22nd December


We began, as we begin every long car journey here, with prayer. And then we left - Alemayehu, Janice and I in a car laden with jerry cans of diesel and water, spare parts, luggage and gifts for the church. We arrived in Jimma, 350 kilometres from Addis Ababa, in mid-afternoon. The road to Jimma is now completely asphalted and the most spectacular part of this leg of the journey is the steep, winding 1,200 metre drop down, through the Gibe Berha, into the Great Rift Valley, and the climb up the other side, to reach the beautiful town of Jimma, cupped by verdant hills. Tiny sweet bananas, papayas, guavas, oranges, eggs and kocho (a kind of cake made with the heart of the false banana tree) are all offered for sale by the roadside.

Tuesday 23rd December
Having been told that the 220 km road to Mizan Teferi is now good and only takes three hours, we had a leisurely start. Breakfast at the hotel set us up for what was to be a much tougher journey.

The scenery was stunning  - tree-clad hills folded back and forth like deep cuts in dough that has been left to rise; a tea plantation where the plants were beautifully arranged in curves across the steep slopes, reminiscent of the maze in many an English country house; lush, flowering vegetation contrasting the red soil and clear blue sky; a coffee plantation, teeming with workers, weeding between the huge bushes which thrive in the forest shade; and the hot sun arcing down to meet the harsh stones, jutting up from the road surface. Three hours out, though, we still hadn’t reached Jimma Bonga and it looked as if the brakes were beginning to fail. Push the pedal hard to the ground and nothing happened; pump the pedal and they bit just enough to slow you to an uncertain stop. Proceeding with great caution, we made Mizan Teferi in six hours. Miraculously, the brakes began to work again, before the descent to Mizan.

Mizan is an extraordinary town which sits under a massive, tree-clad mountain. Half way up, you can see where charcoal burners are at work; a waterfall appears as a smudge, forking its way over rocks; the summit is crested by tall trees, which appear to be standing sentinel over the town. The main street teems with Bench people – smaller and darker than highlanders. The women, carrying heavy loads from market, stop to look at us. When we stop to engage them, there are smiles and laughter all round. Everyone is so friendly.

We meet Wilson, the Mission Centre leader at Dimma, who’s made the journey by bus to meet us, then call in to a local carpentry workshop, to order a desk and chairs for his office and church. While sitting there, school finishes and children in rough, blue, cotton uniforms, many sucking wheat ice lollies (yes) file past. Many flash us smiles, some lob an English phrase in our direction, to gauge our friendliness. When we reply, in English or Amharic, they stop and relax, laughing and asking questions. Admiring a wooden chest that’s being made of reddish wood, we arrange to pick it up on our way through, after Christmas.   

Wednesday 24th December. Christmas Eve.
We set off an hour after first light, having taken breakfast. Wilson and his friend Omot eat with us and we all arranged ourselves in the car, water bottles, gabbis (plain woven cotton blankets from the Ethiopian highlands) and fruit all around us. The road to Dimma is only 90 kilometres, but it is surfaced with hard, grey, flint-like stone, sometimes covered with powder-dust, but frequently gouged and rutted by the many lorries that creep slowly down the winding hillside. We drop another 600 metres and the temperature rises as we go: 36 in the shade. In the scrub on either side of the road, huge black scorch marks indicate where forest fires have swept the bush. Telegraph poles, half burnt, only stand because of the wires which sag under their weight. At one point, we have to decide whether to cross a dangerous bridge, or risk getting stuck in the gorge below.

The refugees left Dimma a year ago, leaving behind a small community of highlanders and Annuaks, a few Nuer students and some Tama; Christians and Moslems, living in and around the collection of tin shops and tea houses which line the dusty, rutted road, baking in the heat and humidity. Before the refugees came, there was nothing here. What is now the town sprang up, to service and make a living from the refugees in the camp.

We waited for two hours, behind the walls of a small hotel, as Wilson rushed around trying to arrange for somewhere for us to stay. We had brought tents and sleeping mats and fully intended to sleep in the church compound, but the Surma come in at night to loot and steal and no one thought it safe for us to do so. Eventually, Wilson comes back and we set off to meet Okello Kom, the Head Administrator of the town, who walks ahead of us to unlock his office in the newly-built administration block. As soon as he’s spotted, others join the procession to his office, some clutching pieces of paper for signature, others coming prepared to sit for as long as it takes, hoping to see him. Ato Okello has arranged for us to stay in the old ARRA compound (ARRA is the government office that has administered and policed the UNHCR refugee camps in Ethiopia for years), now a Federal Police barracks. There’s no power and no water, but we have jerry cans of water with us and we’re thankful for the beds, chairs and toilet. We took a short rest and made our way straight to the church. 


I’d been to the Church four years ago, when this was still a refugee camp. Little had changed. The compound is surprisingly large and the buildings, amazingly, are still standing. A long, grass roofed church, built by the Dinka, stands proudly across the top of the gently sloping land. To the right, the former Adventist church stands abandoned, the grass roof having been attacked by termites. To the left, another long, grass roofed building, with four rooms, leans alarmingly down the gentle slope, but is still standing. Mature trees and battered playground equipment dot the compound. Very young children, many little more than babies carried by their big sisters, appear as if from nowhere and crowd around us, in excitement. We unpack the many things we’ve brought with us: footballs, volleyball and net; paraffin pressure lamps; Amharic bibles; Amharic Children’s Bibles; altar cloths; a beautifully carved, elaborate, silver Ethiopian Orthodox cross for the altar; a box of candles, all for the evening celebration; a carton of sweets for Christmas morning; a box of stationery items for Wilson’s office and five reams of paper.

As parcels are unwrapped and admirers gather around, the young people from Gedu arrive by Isuzu and are soon drumming and singing with the other young people who are rehearsing for the Christmas Eve service. Janice, Alemayehu and I sit under the shade of a tree to interview and video Wilson.

Then we’re introduced to four people the Annuak refer to as the Olam, but who call themselves the Tamaquey – Tama people from the valley of the Quey river. Ethnographers describe them as part of the Majenger people. One of them, Nebiyas, can speak Amharic, so we interview him, too, through Alemayehu.

By six, the heat has begun to fade and the light is softening to a reddish-gold. Looking pleased, Wilson announces that the marching can begin!

Everyone gathers under a white sheet embroidered with a red cross, held high on a wooden pole, like a flag. We pray. It seems that we’re to march around the town, to gather people in for the Christmas Eve service. And so, Wilson and I set off at the head of a procession of fifty, mostly young people. Drums and drummers perched in the back of the pick-up which followed us. As we walked down the hill into the town, the people sang to the rhythm of the drums and the car horn tooted. Dimma is a small town; a four kilometre circuit. As the power lines were down and the one and only TV house stood empty, everyone in town came out to watch.

People waved, smiled and even danced as we passed. Confusion turned to delight as they realised we were keeping Christmas and many joined us. By the time we got back to the church, it was dark and we found that our number had swollen to over 200 men, women and children, Annuak, Tama, Nuer and highlanders, all crammed into the grass church. Everyone was given a candle (although the price has gone up so much recently that only a fraction of them were lit – many were taken home – and why not?) and soon the church was bathed in gentle light.

The candlelight added to the heat. And so began over two hours of Christmas Eve celebration – drumming, singing, praying and an interactive sermon from me, based on Luke’s Christmas story, with translation into Annuak and Amharic. I got people to come up to form a tableau as I spoke – old hat for us, but the first time they’d seen anything like it, it seems. There was a lot of laughter and appreciative shouting and then, at the climax, utter silence and awe. After the service, we gave everyone a card of the Nativity scene, to remind them of the night - we’d bought them in Rome a few weeks before, on the way back from Bill Musk’s consecration. And then- we ate.

Over sixty of us picked our way in the dark, between the small, round tukuls, to Wilson’s grass fenced compound, where Agut, his wife, had prepared a wonderful meal. Ginfo (like Kenyan Ugali, made with maze flour and water) sculpted into mounds, overflowing from bead-decorated gourds, accompanied a rich bean and garlic stew and a lovely spinach and garlic dish. You couldn’t see anyone else, but you could hear the quiet, but excited voices of the family and guests, eagerly awaiting their turn to eat.

For these people, who only eat once a day, this was a great treat. Above us, the sky appeared smothered in silver stars, some large, some like the dusting of flour you sprinkle over the kitchen table before rolling out pastry. Happy and replete, we drove back to the ARRA compound, to rest until morning.

Thursday 25th December, Christmas Day.
Early in the night, we heard the sounds of a hyena calling and then, a little later, the squeels of a domestic animal caught unawares and taken. In a nearby corrugated iron shack, a women wailed and screamed. After midnight, Janice woke to the sound of a diesel engine.

We’d arranged to be at the church for seven thirty, to begin the Christmas morning Eucharist at eight. Eight came and went and there was nobody there. As Andrew got the church ready, Janice and Alemayehu went with Wilson, to his compound, where Agut was preparing another Christmas feast, this time for over seventy people. Vegetables were being washed and chopped, the lentils checked for stones, the meat carefully cleaned, cooking fires tended, Ginfo spooned into gourds and the top sculpted carefully with shells and, to their amazement, boys helping too.                                           

By eight forty five, they were back and we began. At first, only sixty or so people sat on the dark, raised, mud benches in the church. Two of the youths using sticks, hands and elbows, thumped and beat the five drums strapped to the thick wooden pole, driven deep into the earth at the chancel step.

The rhythm, climbing and winding its way through the air, called more to join us. Andrew preached again, this time on John’s preface, and the Eucharistic prayer was prayed “antiphonally”, by Andrew and a Lutheran priest, in English and Annuak, using our new translation. At the end of the service, all the children were given sweets and we gave Amharic Bibles and Childrens’ Bibles to those who’d like them.

The service ended, we made our way straight to the town administration (25th December is an ordinary working day in Ethiopia), to greet Ato Okello and to give him a Christmas gift – a papyrus from Egypt, of the holy family fleeing to Egypt, and a Childrens’ Bible for his family. On this occasion, he had more time and we talked over many things, particularly the changes he’d seen in the town during his time. The refugee camp had had a significant impact on the town and the local economy. When they left, all the NGOs left with them, leaving behind them a few tired buildings and three brand-new corrugated iron (resettlement) sheds that no one has found a new use for yet. If anything, the town is poorer today.

We left Ato Okello (second from left) to return to Wilson’s family compound for the Christmas lunch, which we ate in the cool of his spotlessly clean grass hut, beautifully decorated with crocheted wall hangings and a poster warning refugee children of the dangers of discarded ordnance. Christmas Day was even hotter, so having eaten, we returned to the ARRA compound to rest. We all fell into a deep sleep and woke slightly late for the afternoon ecumenical programme. We got the church half way through the sermon, which was being preached by the same Lutheran priest who had presided with me in the morning. The church was absolutely packed, the singing and drumming was thrilling and the heat was overwhelming, everyone pressed together on the mud-sculpted benches. As the ninety minute long service drew to a close, I was invited to address the congregation.

At the end of the service, people left the church in a long, conga-like crocodile, to the accompaniment of enthusiastic drumming, out into the breeze of the early evening. Once everyone was out of the church, the drums were dislodged from their wooden pole and carried out into the compound, where they were attached to another pole and the drumming continued, as the youth (even me - no youth!) danced around in a circle together. To finish off this amazing Christmas celebration, we danced and marched a short distance out along the main road to Gedu, waving banners in the air. When everyone was exhausted, we all said our farewells for the day and we (Janice, Alemayehu and I) set off by car to drive the short distance back, but Wilson asked us to help carry sufficient jerry cans down to the river, to collect water for washing up. He and two boys jumped into the back of the pick-up and we drive down to the Akobo river.

There, people had come to swim and bathe in the cool, clean water that bubbled over rocks. Most had come simply to wash and no one felt any shame in the heat. Dark-skinned Annuak and olive-skinned highlanders, men, women and children, stripped of everything bar their underpants, lathered themselves, dipped, plunged, splashed and played in the river.

The sunset that evening was utterly beautiful – the perfect end to an extraordinary Christmas Day. Although not quite. We returned to our room in the ARRA compound for our own Christmas Day evening meal – a tin of baked beans and a tin of chicken sausages, with bread, followed by mixed nuts and raisins (brought out from the UK), and aTwix each, eaten by candlelight.
 
Friday 26th December, Boxing Day.
By arrangement, we met Ojulu (our TEE tutor in Dimma - he’d missed the Christmas celebrations because he’d been commissioned by the government to travel three days, on foot, to visit remote areas to inoculate against Polio) and Wilson at 7:30am, on the road near the church, to drive out to Gedu, a village right on the Sudanese border, where Wilson has planted a church within the last year. The road itself is smooth and straight, far better than the road between Dimma and Mizan and that’s because it was built to transport the refugees back to South Sudan a year ago. We reached Gedu in just under an hour, a small village of grass roofed huts and corrugated iron buildings left behind by the road construction company. As we parked near the small, corrugated iron school building, the students inside craned their necks to get sight of us.

One of the village elders came to greet us, wearing a woollen beanie hat in the red, yellow and green of the Ethiopian flag. As our Ojulu translated, we talked and discovered that the Anglican Church is the only church in the village and that everyone is very happy with it. As we chatted, the school director (a young man named Ojulu) dressed in a blue tee-shirt and white baseball cap, also came out to meet us. He took us into the building, where we greeted the students – all boys. All the girls, it seemed, the church choir, had walked to Dimma to join us for Christmas Day.

Ojulu the School Director’s biggest challenge? Lack of interest among the students to learn – because, very near-by, the young men can make money digging and panning for gold near the river.

There is no church building in Gedu, nor any leader. Wilson travels by Isuzu once or twice a month, if he has the money, to visit and lead worship. The congregation (about eighty) sit on simple benches, made from eucalyptus poles, balanced on “y” shaped poles dug deep into the ground, just next to the School.

The journey from Dimma to Gedu, by Isuzu, is 20 birr each way. For as little as 80 birr (£5) a month, Wilson could visit twice and the church would continue to grow. After looking at the “church”, we walked around the village, visiting members of his congregation. In one small, simple compound, three Annuak women sat in a row in a plastic sheet, one clutching a baby, smoking water pipes made of gourds. They cultivate the tobacco themselves, part-dry it, cut it and then wrap it and twist it in newspaper, in finger-sized portions, which they then sell for one birr. After an hour or so, we drove the short distance south, to where we hoped to see the gold diggers. Wilson himself digs for gold, partly to supplement his meagre church income and partly as a way of reaching out to the young men working the area. Small teams of four or five will dig a hole, between 12 and 20 metres deep, into the earth and rock near the river bed.

As the hole gets deeper, it fills with water from the water-table. Team members take it in turns to shin down with a candle, to excavate earth and rock, which is then brought to the surface to be panned in the river. 1 gram of gold will yield 100 birr (£6.60) in Mizan. As I say, we had hoped to see the gold-diggers. We saw their camp, but it and the area where they dig was deserted, because they’d had to move to find water to pan. If anything, Wilson was more disappointed than we were.


We drove back to Dimma for our final meeting with Wilson, giving him money to build a proper church in Gedu and money to help with the Christmas celebration. When we got back to the ARRA compound to pack our things, we found an angry young man who’d been looking for us, to take the money for our accommodation. Once invited in and having chatted to Alemayehu for ten minutes or so, we gave him one of the framed Egyptian papyrus pictures and he became a firm friend. When it came down to it, he was a long way from home, too.

Having packed and changed our clothes, we set off, in the heat of the day, for the 90 kilometre climb back to Mizan. Two of the Tammaquey people hopped in too and we crawled, slipped and slid over the hard road. An hour into the journey, one of the tyres blew out in the blazing sun. Janice had already begun to over-heat and we were worried about her, but she took herself off to find some shade as Alemayehu and I worked to change the tyre.

Because the road was so pitted, we couldn’t get the jack under the suspension springs to jack it up, so Alemayehu drove the car gently up onto a huge stone he’d lodged under the wheel, to give the jack purchase. You’re never alone for long in situations like this and we soon had a small audience: a young Surma warrior, his torso cicatriced with what looked like the outline of a massive key-hole; and Mohammed, a highlander who’d been displaced with his family, when he was four, from Shoa, in the north of Ethiopia, during the famine in Haile Selassie’s time. Mohammed was friendly, helpful and thoughtful. The young Surma warrior was self-absorbed and clearly hoping for a few birr, simply for looking good. We changed the tyre in quick-time and set off once more over the rough road, dropping Nebiyas and his young Tamma friend in a village that straddled the road. Further on, we stopped the car on the brow of a hill, under the shade of another tree, to eat some bread, drink some water and to give the car a rest. A wonderful breeze stirred the branches of the trees around us as it came up from the valley bottom below.

Praise God, we arrived at Mizan around four, found the hotel, dropped our things, drank several cold drinks and set off into the town to find our carpenter-friend and the local gommista, the man who fixes tyres. The gommista (eventually) remembered us from my last trip, four years ago and fixed the tyre readily and efficiently, fitting one of the new inner tubes we’d brought from Addis and lining the wheel with an extra layer of truck inner-tube between the wheel hub and the new inner tube, for extra protection. He charged us 15 birr – one pound – for his work. At the carpentry shop, Ato Temesgen’s boys were in the middle of varnishing 300 benches they’d been commissioned to make for the local Secondary School, but the wooden chest was ready. We loaded it into the back of the pick-up, covered it in tarpaulin and drove around the town, stopping to look into the few small, simple shops selling hand-worked local gold. That evening, we managed to speak to Justin and my Mum, both Christmas-ing in Solihull, and Emma, who’d been cooking for ten in Addis. A highlight of the evening was to have been the Arsenal-Aston Villa match showing at eight our time, but there was a power-cut and Alemayehu was the only one who had enough interest to wonder into town, looking for a TV house with a generator.

Saturday 27th December.
Car loaded at first light and a light breakfast taken, we set off on the road back to Jimma. It was a beautiful early morning, children walking by the roadside to the nearest village for a church programme, women carrying huge bundles of grass to market, men driving cattle, or leading a single cow on a rope, to find pasture. The scenery appeared as beautiful is it had on the way down and we were thankful that everything had gone so well. A short way in, we had another flat tyre – same back wheel –which, again, we changed quickly and without trouble. Maybe an hour later, we stopped in a quiet spot, well away from any habitation, to siphon diesel from one of the jerry cans, into the fuel tank. Within seconds Alemu, an old man we hadn’t spotted by the roadside, ran up to us, holding an upside-down, open umbrella. He was the guard of the local Orthodox Church and he’d been standing by the roadside, trying to collect a few birr from passers-by. As Alemayehu began to suck on the pipe, to get the siphon going, I gave Alemu a few birr and Berhanu came up, leading a young bull on a rope. They both watched and, inevitably, we began to converse. We had trouble getting the siphon going and I was in a silly mood, so as children came to join us, I began to pretend I was drinking, not siphoning, diesel from the tank, making appropriate “yummy” noises as I did.

The children were in fits of hysterics – probably because they rarely see foreigners close-to. The few foreigners they do see in those parts usually just whip past in their cars, disappearing in clouds of dust. The laughter brought others, who were captivated by the photos Janice was taking as she chatted to them and joined in the fun.

As the jerry can was clearly almost empty, Sisay rushed off and returned with a thin plastic bag, in which he asked us to pour him some naphtha (diesel). When we did, Berhanu and a woman we hadn’t seen joined in – she, rushing back to her house when the first one was full, with a plastic bowl, but the diesel had gone.

After much hand-shaking, smiles and more clowning around, we parted company, waving and wishing we could have stayed to spend the morning there.
A little further on, we were driving, somewhat gingerly, over rough stone. We stopped at the compound of the Korean Road Construction Company, hoping to find a gommista, but they were all out for an early lunch. The guard took pity on us and told us there was another small town ten minutes up the road, so we set off. And he was right – within fifteen minutes, we hit a small town – another ribbon development – where we sat by the roadside as the gommista fixed this tyre with the same skill the man in Mizan had done the night before. Once again, we were surrounded by interested passers-by. Children, giggling and touching us, to see if our skin really felt the same as theirs; a man with a wooden wheelbarrow, who’d caught my eye earlier; we’d smiled at each other, which he took as an invitation to come back, which he did, to show me the huge “ferasula” (17 kilo pack) of dried chillis he’d either bought or was hoping to sell me.

As Alemayehu had bought one half an hour ago, at a roadside market, and as I couldn’t possibly eat 17 kilos of chilli, however much I love them, we declined his offer and drove on. A little further on, we stopped to remove the bull-bar (front bumper), which had been working itself loose over the rocky road for the past hour or so. We’d begun to sound like an ancient pick-up, not a brand-new one. We reached Jimma in time for a wonderful swim in the fresh-water pool, a cold drink and a shopping trip before supper and bed.

Sunday 28th December.
Early start, back to Addis by 2:00pm. Bought bananas, papayas, guavas and limes on the way, just before the road dips down into the Rift Valley.

 
As we climbed out of the Rift Valley, just beyond a coffee-stop in Wolkite, the road ahead was blocked. Isuzu trucks, buses and Toyota minibus taxis filled the road; crowds of people, many wrapped in gabis (plain woven white cotton shawls), or wearing white beanie hats with Amharic writing on, dodged in and out of the parked vehicles as they moved like a rising tide towards a church compound up to the right.

This was St. Gabriel’s Day and all over the country, people would flock to Orthodox churches dedicated to Gabriel, for a day of worship, teaching and partying. Amazingly, the repaired tyre got us back to Addis without any trouble, at around 2:00pm and headed straight for Alemayehu’s house, where his wife, Aster and their son, Nataniel, were waiting for him. Having unloaded his luggage, the 17 kilo “feresula” of chillis and the 14 Papaya he had bought in the Rift Valley, we headed for home, where Tesfaye, our compound guard, helped us unload the car. He spent the next two hours washing down the dust and sweeping out the inside as we washed out our dusty clothes, showered, chatted to him and caught up with family by phone.

This has been a wonderful Christmas; one we shall remember for years to come. We were so encouraged by the church in Dimma and the work that Wilson is doing. Some of our leaders need a hard push to do anything; he has seen opportunities and taken initiatives and has a tremendous heart for God’s mission. We want to give more support for the work he is doing.

What have we learnt on this trip? It has reminded us that Ethiopia is a breathtakingly beautiful country; we’ve learnt that human beings are resilient – more than merely survive, we have the determination to work hard to make a life for ourselves, even in the harshest environments; we’ve seen that even the poorest have so much to give; and we’ve seen, yet again, that when you commit yourself to God and rely upon him totally, as we have had to do, so many times on these journeys, his grace is beyond imagining.                                                     

Please pray for us all.

+Andrew