That afternoon, however, she seemed to recognize me. Surprised to see this face again, she made sounds, her whole body involved in the effort. I was awed by her perfection before; now I reveled in her unexpected response and expressed delight. And then she smiled.
Do I need to tell you I was smitten? Later there were days when I approached her, smiled—and she smiled back without any enticement on my part. How could she identify me and my facial expressions so accurately? Ken had a similar experience. She was open to relationships. Does she miss us now that we’re gone? I've promised my children to publish only non-identifiable pictures of the grandchildren and I think this qualifies. Sorry that I can't give you her smile.
Meanwhile, her older brother—just 2 years and 2 months old—generated a wonder all his own. When we saw Simon last Christmas he communicated without expressing himself verbally. He understood us when we spoke in English and somehow we understood his responses, often illustrated by body language. Now he’s learning to speak three languages as part of his daily life—English, French, and Amharic (language of the Amhara people, the largest ethnic group of Ethiopia). I had a hard time recognizing the specific language being spoken—even when it was English—let alone understanding what he meant.
Also, although Simon remembered us, we needed to forge a new relationship in new surroundings, and it took time. Now the joy wasn’t a smile—that came readily when playing hide-and-seek or some other game. Now the joy was sharing a picture book when reading to him or feeling the pull of his hand when walking down an Ethiopian street. It took time, but we had precious moments. Here he's playing in the courtyard. (Note the basin on the left filled with pungent chopped ginger left to dry in the sun.)
Marta wanted Ken and I to wear traditional garments for the baptism. Although a photographer took many pictures, we won’t have access to them until later. So for this picture we dressed ourselves here at home with no one to help drape the shawls. Then we asked a neighbor to take the picture. We won't dress this way when we attend church in North Dakota this Sunday, but I thought we looked rather impressive when ready for the baptism.
Boys are baptized when 40 days old, girls when 80 days old. Salome was one of four, two boys and two girls. I suspect baptisms occur almost every day.
There’s no way that I can describe the details; I’d surely get something wrong. First of all, there's the building itself. A beautiful structure with a separate attached building just for baptisms. Here's a pictue of the outside:
Four priests were involved, each with specific roles. Anointing with oil was included. There was much chanting in ancient Geez. Everything was liturgical and outside our experience—but it was so normal and comfortable for those who grew up in that tradition. I’m glad we have a God who meets us wherever we are, in all cultures and within a variety of doctrinal expressions.
After the baptism it was back to the guest house for food. Lots of it—of the traditional variety.
When we visited Ted and Marta in the United Arab Emirates about a year-and-a-half ago, we went to an Ethiopian restaurant one night for Ethiopian food. A unique experience. We thought they probably engaged in such activity on special occasions—similar to our eating lutefish and lefsa at Christmas.
Not so. Ethiopians eat Ethiopian food every day. Imagine that.
The mainstay of the diet is injera—a large, pancake-shaped, sourdough bread spread across the plate. Made from a locally-grown grain, it’s not generally available in places other than Ethiopia. Soft, spongy, and malleable, it functions as the primary eating utensil as well as a food.
In a typical meal, large pieces are cut and rolled. Individuals help themselves and roll the injera open across their plate. Then prepared dishes and sauces—some very spicy-hot—are spooned onto it. Smaller pieces are torn from the edge or from an additional piece with the right hand. These are used to pick up morsels of the prepared dishes and sauces which are then placed in the mouth.
Could you follow that? Although sauces stick to the right hand, the left hand remains clean, ready for picking up beverage glasses or for spooning more sauces onto more injera. Ritualistic washing before and after the meals are often part of the process.
Simon loves injera, would eat it plain when his mom gave it to him. Ted must have enjoyed it as well for he ate freely with finesse. And I enjoyed it, even though I frequently used my left hand to help out. The sour flavor of the bread is strong, but it blended with the hot sauces. Ken doesn’t care for spicy food at any time and struggled with both the taste and the mechanics of eating without utensils.
Because the kitchen of the guest house was not set up for traditional cooking, Marta’s older sister and servant prepared much of the food. The aromas that arrived with the food that morning prepared me for the feast to follow. It turned into a great time—even through I didn’t understand most of what was said. People who couldn’t make the 12:00 baptism kept dropping by all afternoon. I especially wanted to visit with a pleasant older lady—to no avail. On the other hand, several younger men opened doors for conversation.
Ken’s reaction to the food continued to be problematic. In addition to Ethiopian food at home, we ate out in several Addis restaurants (where we also enjoyed traditional music and the traditional dances of several tribes). But at home Marta took to cooking pasta for him and he was selective with sauces. On one of the final evenings we were invited to friends who prepared an European-style dinner and also provided utensils—a special blessing.
So, it was good to be there and now it’s good to be home. Ken’s recovering. And although I didn’t react as he did, I’m recovering, too. A trip of such magnitude took something out of us. But obviously, it was worth every bit of energy expended.
For more on our visit to Ethiopia, check out my Red Red Berries blog.
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