Day Three — We need Africa

Our second full day in Addis began with a heavy rain, but it only lasted about 30 minutes. This is typical here, for the most part.
After Kelly led us in a devotional, we were blessed with the arrival of Dr. Florence Muindi — the woman who started LIA 10 years ago (We will celebrate the 10th anniversary with her Saturday). Her husband, two boys and niece joined us for breakfast. Dr. Muindi is a calm, confident and cheerful woman whose passion for the poorest of the poor runs so deep, you can't help but think of Mother Theresa. It is her life's mission and the faith behind it can move mountains.
Her relationship with Cedar Ridge began when her family, from Kenya, lived in Olathe years ago. There, she connected with people from Cedar Ridge during its early years.
A partnership began even when LIA was more of a vision than anything.
"Cedar Ridge trusted us before we were on the ground," she told us. "Cedar Ridge got behind us 100 percent. You guys sent us to Ethiopia. You enabled us to be the hands and feet. For you to be here this week is very significant. It's a great revelation that God is great."
We're looking forward to spending more time with Dr. Muindi and her family. Today, however, they're taking time to rest.
We are off to Merkato again.

Hardcore street boys

After entering the courtyard of the Merkato street children center, we met more than a dozen of the hardcore street boys. Each is in their later teenage years. Hardcore only describes their situation of living on the streets for extended periods of time, not their spirits — at least not the version of them we met today.
During our time of prayer, Debelle told them the reason for our trip to Merkato.
"I told them that there is nothing except the love of God that brought you over here," he said. "I ask them if they have a love for you and they do. They show you by clapping for you."
Six of the boys then gave their testimonies of how God has changed them and how the street children project has supported them.
The first boy, Habtamu, 20, told us through Debelle's interpretation about the life he's lived since leaving home at the age of 8.
"I have not a good history, but my meaningful life starts with Jesus," he told his. "God is a major converter. God picked up my very trash life. Now I know God is glorified with my testimony."
After living on the streets of Addis with no money, clothes or school, Habtamu now lives in a house, is wearing clean clothes and is leading a safe life.
"It is very different in my life," he said. "I used to act cruel and had no respect for people and wanted to fight with people, but these days my character has changed. I've become obedient and humble and I respect people. God used this project as an instrument to convert my life. I cannot forget what God has done."
He said he wishes to have a successful marriage one day, continue his education and lead his own business. He also wants to serve God in his church and become a minister. He currently is training to be a hairdresser.
He said his prayer is that he never becomes so rich that he diverts from God's ways, and that he also never becomes so poor that he grows angry toward God.
"Please don't forget to pray for us," he said. "When you think of the street life and of the thousands of kids living on the streets, pray for them and may God bless you abundantly."
Many of these boys left their homes hoping to find work in Addis. Their image of the capital city was one of prosperity, however, once they made it here they were surprised by overwhelming poverty. Other hardcore boys turn to the streets because their families simply can't afford to feed another mouth.
Some of the boys were told they could have work if they handed over their money and belongings up front. It's easy to spot the scam, unless you're an 8-year-old boy who's by himself, searching for some hope in a city where everyone else has the same need. One boy said he began cheating others on his own because it proved to be a useful skill against him. They each claimed that LIA's program saved their life and, in fact, helped make it new. They give God the credit for this.
One boy, Abera, was living a good life until he became sick and lost everything. His deep poverty and despair led him to have thoughts of suicide. He wanted to "poison" himself with medicine, but he couldn't find it.
"My action failed and God let me live here today," he said.
However, he later found himself in another desperate situation and felt the same feelings again. This time he tried to electrocute himself . . . but as he touched the electricity nothing happened.
"Because of God's intervention, the electricity didn't harm me," he said.
After coming to Addis to find a better life, a friend told him about the street children project and he looked into it.
"At this point I have a good understanding that God used this project to bring me from so many dangers that would've destroyed my life," he said. "Now I am leading a different life. I consider this staff as my mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers. I believe in Jesus Christ who can save human beings from death and bring dark into light. I now live a life of light."
Following the boys' testimonies, Rich, Lizz, Gary and Jeff each gave their testimonies of how God has changed their lives. The boys listened intently to the stories and learned that those outside of Merkato and Ethiopia have their own personal struggles and life challenges, as well. The rest of us were inspired by these testimonies, too. It was an incredible experience. At one point during the exchange of stories and encouragement, something could be felt in the room. We all talked about it during our nightly debriefing time. We may need an interpreter to verbally communicate with these boys, but love was communicated in a very real way today. God tells us he is love. God was in the room.
After the testimonies, Habtamu, wearing a bright yellow shirt, jeans and a red stocking cap, humbly asked to pray for Gary and the health problems he shared during his testimony. He walked over to Gary and placed his hand on his shoulder.
"God, I know I am not good," he said. "I know that you are powerful. May your power be released in his life. May you touch him and be healed. God, you are able enough. I pray to you God to let the Spirit move through all of his life. In the name of Jesus Christ, may God give you the safest journey as you go back to your homeland."
Gary then hugged Habtamu. (We've learned that hugging is a more adequate way of saying thank you here.) We came to Ethiopia to minister to broken people, the poorest of the poor, in one of the poorest countries of our time, and we just witnessed one of these very people stand up and call out to God for us in our brokenness. We're beginning to understand the phrase, "I need Africa more than Africa needs me."

Going for a prayer walk

After lunch we returned to Merkato — this time to walk among its people in their environment. We split into smaller groups, each with a project staff member, and went out. As is the case with each of our visits so far, the young children run up to us giggling, smiling and looking deep into our eyes. It's as if you're a rock star, Big Bird or . . . Jesus to them. (For me, Kevin, I'm definitely getting the Big Bird vibe. Bird is the word, you know.) Most of the children, the ones who aren't shy, extend their hand and say "My name is ________, what is your name?" When you tell them your name, they repeat it as if to keep it for themselves. It's very easy to want to shake every child's hand and hug them all, even as new children continue to run up to you.
Before the walk, some members of our team felt overwhelmed by sites they'd seen earlier in the day. A begging mother with a baby strapped to her back. A young boy, probably 4-years-old, walking the streets by himself. Walking through the cobblestone alleys where these people live seemed like it would be too much. We expected to see despair, but we didn't. We saw joy. We saw gratitude for our presence. We, again, saw love. An older man whom I made eye contact with extended his hand and then embraced me as if to say, "Thank you so much for just being here."
The poor here truly do have neighborhoods, but it feels more like people playing house than anything. Or maybe permanent camping grounds. Women are out washing clothes in big bowls of soapy water and then hanging them on clotheslines they share with their neighbors across the muddy, rocky path. Other women are preparing meals on small stove-like structures. Children are running around, shouting to their friends that foreigners are here. Many of us feel frustrated that we don't know Amharic well. You want to communicate with these people and hear their stories.
The prayer walk made me wonder about so much. How do they sleep here during the cold nights when I'm freezing back in my bungalow room? How much water gets into their house during the daily downpour? What do they have that I don't?