Extending a Lifeline, One Child at a Time
Saturday, March 31, 2007
By: Kurt Henne

Assisting Orphans and Vulnerable Children in Ethiopia

by Kurt Henne, Project Concern's Country Director in Ethiopia

I visited some families in very poor neighborhoods in Addis Ababa last week. The "houses" are tiny, one-room mud homes, with only a bed against one wall, a cooking area in one corner, a bucket of water, and a small clothes rack. At our first visit the bed was occupied by a mother, wrapped in blankets. She has AIDS and tuberculosis is taking a terrible toll on her. She has been bedridden for five months. The father abandoned the family when things got bad. The son we spoke with is only 10, just like my son. His name was Abebaw.

Abebaw was feeding his three-year old sister, who sat without pants on the cool, mud floor. His other younger sister was playing at the nun's house close by. The nun's house is a sort of refuge. Other children won't play with the child because her mother has AIDS. The 10-year old boy is acting as nurse to his dying mother, and mother and father to his two sisters.

I asked him how he prepares the food, and he said that the neighbors helped them, but they were getting very angry. The neighbors are extremely poor also, and five months is a long time to send food over to his family. But he said the family's main problem was paying the rent. The owner of this one-room mud hut charges 60 Birr, or about $7 U.S. dollars, per month. That's not much, unless you're 10, without a father, with a bedridden mother, and two younger siblings to take care of. So Abebaw tries to stay in school, but he must go out and work also. He presently earns a few Birr each day by carrying rocks at a construction site.

I asked Abebaw if he liked school, and he gave a soft, little smile, and said that he liked "mathematics" the best. I worked to return a smile, fighting back the tears that were forming in my eyes, wondering about Abebaw's future, and the future of his little sisters. How could my son manage with such confusion and trauma, watching his mom die; the fear of the future; the impotence to break out of a situation that he never asked to be born into and did nothing to deserve. The moment was broken when the mother coughed and moaned with the pain in her body. We felt that we should go, so moved on to the next house, and the next. In each, a similar scenario, with children trying to survive in very confusing and desperate situations.
 
Abebaw's family is like thousands and thousands of families here - on the brink of total disintegration. Abebaw is one step away from begging on the street, or selling his body for a few Birr in order to survive. He's one step away from losing the last drops of dignity, self-esteem and life as he knows it today. And looking in this innocent child's eyes, my only thought is I will NOT let him take that next step.

Abebaw's family was recently found by HAPCSO, Project Concern's local partner. HAPCSO provides what we call "home-based care," the only economically feasible strategy to care for people living with AIDS in poor countries like Ethiopia. During their visits, HAPCSO's nurses provide whatever health care / first aid that they can; they train family members to care for the sick; and they provide psycho-social support to the family.

I recall a story where thousands of starfish have landed during high tide, and have been left in the sand as the tide goes down. As the sun comes out, the starfish begin to dehydrate, nearing death. Along that beach a young person begins picking them up one by one and tossing them back into the water. Another young person comes along and says, "Why do you bother? What you are doing is crazy. There are thousands of starfish here and you'll never be able to throw them all back in!" And the first person looks at the starfish in his hand, throws it back in the water,  and says, "It matters to this one."