Hossana

Our first stop on our trip south was to our son's birthplace, Hossana. As soon as we stepped out of the jeep, we knew this wasn't a place that saw tourists very often. We immediately picked up a following of little girls chanting for money and when our guide gave them a bit to shew them away, more children joined in the parade. We stepped in to a house on one of the main streets and found that it also doubled as a coffee shop/bar. Most of the houses lining the street were a shop or restaurant in the front and living space in the back. By 'space' we mean about the size of your bathroom. This woman was very happy to have us and we sampled her home brew.

Below is one of the fronts of the houses on the main street. The yellow jugs are what they use for water. Some still use the heavy clay pots, but these are much lighter and easier to haul.

Most people were very excited to see us and all wanted us to take their picture. The streets here, as in many towns, were lined with tailors, ready to make clothes with old fashioned foot pump sewing machines. They made beautiful clothes and it was a man's work.

As we continued through town kids were eager to show off for the camera.

Our next stop was a corn mill in town. Women loaded donkeys with the grain, sorted in, had it milled and strapped in back on the donkeys. As we took pictures some young men came laughing around a corner kicking something on the floor . . . a dead mouse. We all thought it was pretty funny.

Most people in this area farm for a living. They still use the same farming practices Ethiopians have used for hundreds of years. The soil is fertile, but with no tractors to haul large quantities of stones, the leave the soil rather rocky and plow with a wooden plow.

It brought a smile to my face to think about two Wisconsin kids going half way around the world to adopt a farm boy. 

In this area they mostly grow a false banana tree. False because it doesn't actually produce fruit. Why grow it? It does much more than the banana tree can. They use the root to make a type of pancake that is the staple in this area (not injera). We got to try some and it was quite good. They also use the leaves for thatching, storing things in, umbrellas and the make very strong rope out of another part. It is a huge inheritance to pass on to your children, as they take something like 40 years to mature. 

We stopped at this hut just outside of town for a picture. It is all very typical: wooden fence, false banana trees behind the hut, clay water jugs in the front. It was very surreal to walk around the town our son could have lived and died in - to see how his birthfamily is likely living right now. Everything was so very different, so poor in resources but so rich in relationships, with a very different freedom than 'freedom' in America. 

As I was thinking these thoughts, we saw this boy come running up to us from way out in the field. You can see the smile on his face, and he did not stop smiling the whole time we were around. Danny asked him his name, his father's name, his grandfather's name, his great-grandfather's name, and that's where couldn't name anyone else. For the first time, I thought maybe Ethiopia wasn't so poor, maybe our son would have been happy and well here. While these thoughts were running through my mind and trying not to let tears out, we walked over to the hut and Danny showed us all about the false banana. The owner of the hut came out and was honored to have us visit. Again, very refreshing culture shock, we could just walk up to someone's property and home and in the garden and they felt honored to have a guest! 

He took us into the hut and we looked around as best we could in the dark. Danny told him we were adopting a baby from Hossana. He said his wife had just given birth 15 days before and motioned to a corner where she and the baby were sleeping. We hadn't even seen her it was so dark.

In that moment I wondered if Mamush had been born in a similar place and lay with his birthmother on the dirt floor of a hut for a month. I swallowed tears and am still processing this stop in the home that could have been my son's.

In the meantime we had attracted some more people, eager to see what was so interesting about their neighbor's house and to see us. 

I am so happy we were able to stop in Hossana and see life there - to be able to show and tell Tate about his birthplace. So thankful for that little boy who came running up to us, grinning from ear to ear. Even though he's in America now, I hope Tate becomes that kind of friendly boy.