Day Eight.

Day 8. 

Let’s talk about opaque glass. 

Micah and I are sharing a room. Full size beds, plenty of space.....it’s the nicest place I’ve ever stayed at in Ethiopia. 

But it has one major flaw. 

The bathroom is attached to the bedroom and only separated by an opaque glass partition. 

This poses an awkward situation for me and my teenage son. To use the bathroom requires strategy and finesse. We take turns sitting in the corner next to the bathroom on the door side. We keep all the lights off. Sometimes we kick each other out of the room. 

A shower is much more difficult. During the day, we have been running around non-stop for paperwork. From eight in the morning till seven or eight at night. So I let Micah have the shower before we leave or after we come home. But for me? Here’s my current shower routine:

Wake up in the middle of the night. Use my phone on the dimmest setting as a light. Use every pillow and blanket to build a wall next to Micah. *IF* he wakes up, he knows this means “STAY”. The wall serves two purposes: to block the light from my phone, and to block any view to the bathroom at all. It’s pitch dark, and I make sure the electricity in the room is off (so simple; this hotel requires a card to be in a tiny slot for the electricity to come on, so I just removed the card). 

Go into the bathroom and set up everything I need. Turn the water on. Close and lock the door. Turn the phone light off. Shower in the pitch darkness. 

BOOM. 

Today was fun. My two friends came and picked us up in the morning, and we went to a hair salon. Micah played on my phone (I have downloaded a tone of drone flying games for him) and I picked a hairstyle. Then one of the ladies at the shop cornrowed me. 

Let me tell you, it was a LOT of work for her. My hair wasn’t meant to be cornrowed, and this was a VERY professional salon where she did tiny TINY braids and made sure they were straight as arrows. I grinned like a crazy person the whole time. All the women getting their hair done kept asking me if it was too tight, but I told them in Amharic, “No, it’s fine, I’m strong.” (Side note: when she was done, I have to admit, I could barely smile anymore, because my face was pulled backwards by those braids. It was like natural Botox. And the first night I went to bed after that, I barely slept. When you lie down, the pressure automatically pulls backwards; it HURT. It was a long night. But totally worth it. Now I’m on the second night, and it’s fine. Only slightly uncomfortable.) 

It only took about two hours to do my head and I had a blast. I chatted off and on with various women, and watched very closely as to how my hair was being braided. The braids are so tight and so perfect. It’s incredible. They only had dark extensions, of course, so my hair is back to black. 

I feel like a warrior. 

The woman was kind enough to even let me video her while she braided. I wanted to be able to see so I can practice on the girls. When she was finished, I gave her a huge hug. It was stunning. 

After the braids, we walked to my friend’s house for lunch and coffee. She had served up a feast. In Ethiopia, when you visit someone and they prepare food, they insist that you eat and eat and eat. And EAT. Micah and I are constantly borderline exploding. Especially since we visit several people every day, and everyone wants to feed us. 

I love going to this friend’s house. It’s a tradition that the three of us have; to eat and have coffee together in this house. It’s full of love and laughter and happiness.....and incense!!! It’s one of my favorite times and places to be. I drank four cups of coffee. There I go, breaking the rules again. In Ethiopia, you drink up to three cups. The coffee is incredibly strong. And delicious. And addicting. 

Afterwards, my driver came and got us, and we drove to see my other three kids. We took a different road than usual, and got lost on a mountain. We ended up at a roadblock, where construction was happening. To turn back and go around would have taken more than an hour. My driver (and one of my best friends) told me, “Wait here!” Then they hopped out and went and spoke to one of the crew heads. The man looked over and gave the thumbs up. My driver returned and grinned. “I told him to please let us through, because I have a very pretty friend who needs to get through here.” 

Whatever works, right? 😂 We were still lost and drove around asking random people where to go. Everyone pointed in a different direction. Finally, I saw a landmark I knew. I told my driver, “Go left! I remember this!” They responded, “Marissa, we have to meet at the church. We don’t know where we are.” “No,” I insisted. “I can get us there.” I had walked before, and taking the streets was different, but I guided her through the town. “But the church!” she said. “Forget the church! This way!!!!” And five minutes later, we were outside their gate. “How did you DO that?!?!” my driver asked incredulously. “My heart,” I replied. “My heart knew where my babies were.”

I got to spend the rest of the afternoon with my other kids. It was a precious, precious gift. They are so big. So amazing. I am in awe of their strength and character, and I long for them to be home. 

They fed me, again. A second lunch. And three more cups of coffee. I am WIRED, to say the least. 

Felecia gave me a gift; a coffee ceremony cloth (like a big table runner) that she wove herself. It is incredibly beautiful, and must have taken her more than twenty hours. The stitches are small and perfect. It is gold and white and green, with faux grass, so we can have coffee ceremonies in America. It is absolutely beautiful. My most precious gift. 

I also received shiro powder (chickpea), berbere (the famous Ethiopian spice), and kollo (a nut mix that is served with the coffee ceremony). All of it was handmade and prepared; not store bought. Made with love. 

When it was time to go, Felecia’s eyes filled up. She is 16 now; beautiful, responsible, and an absolute angel. When I look at her, my heart explodes. Matthew gripped me in a hug....and wouldn’t let go. He is 11; tall and quiet, with deep dark eyes that see everything. But for that moment, he was a little boy again, wanting me to shelter him. I held him for an eternity. “I WILL come back,” I whispered as I rocked him. When I finally let him go, I ran straight back to him and hugged him again. My baby. 

I kissed and hugged everyone a million times. When I finally climbed into the car, I opened the window and locked hands with my kids. We were all starting to cry. The car pulled away. 

I waved the “ILY” sign back and forth. They did too. I had one hand out the window, the other as close to the back windshield as I could. I love you. I love you. I love you. They followed the car, running after it to see it as the gap between us began to grow. 

I love you, I love you, I love you. 

They grew smaller. We all waved harder. I climbed half out the window. My babies. My babies. We turned a corner and they disappeared. 

I love you, I love you, I love you. 

I felt my heart shattering. Tears started streaming down my face. I grabbed Micah’s hand and sat, trying to breathe, trying not to die. This trip has been an incredible victory, a dream come true, a total miracle. But I still have three children waiting for me. Three children depending on me. Three children I would die for. 

I love you, I love you, I love you. 

Enneigh emmet-ah-low. I WILL come back.