Maza's Story - Bethel Travels to Ethiopia

The room was small and dark. Shadows clung to the walls and flickered with the changing daylight seeping through the door. On the floor water glinted in patches. Every thing had been washed and the room was spotless in anticipation for us: three white people, three strangers. Against the left wall was a bureau, against the right a table and in the corner was a bed. Sweeping aside a curtain we were shown into another small, dark room straight ahead. It was so dark all I remember seeing were some woven baskets and a little fire. There was a patch of daylight onwards, at the back of that room. Stepping out we discovered the tiniest back yard I’d ever seen, and the outhouse. That was it.

After our humble tour we retreated back to the front room where we sat on chairs and examined the room intensely in search of pleasant things to say. Maza spoke very good English so between the three of us we kept somewhat of a conversation going by asking her questions about herself, her sister and their home.

Her story is this story, the one I am trying to loyally retell from flickering memories.

Tom, Crystal and I were introduced to Maza at the orphanage. It was the Sunday afternoon that we were to spend visiting the families of the kids who aren’t necessarily orphans but come to Yosef to receive support from the orphanage because their parents can’t support them. Together we walked out of the orphanage compound and headed towards the main road so we could catch a bajaj to get to her home. Everyone stopped what they were doing to watch as the girl led us from the bajaj into one of the houses along the street. I prayed that we wouldn’t cause any trouble for them after we left.

Maza introduced us to her sister, Baiza, and two of their friends that were there as well. We were treated with the utmost respect and were given orange Miranda to drink while sitting on the only chairs they had. Baiza brought out their coffee making kit and the ceremony began. While we watched, fascinated with the gebena (traditional Ethiopian coffee pot) being heated on the red coals, the fragrant smell of coffee filling our noses and the young girl shyly preparing the traditional drink, Maza unfolded her story.

Death had hung his hat and cloak in their home. The girls’ father died when they were very young but they were blessed with a mother who was a school teacher: an educated woman who could earn a good income. Their mother was a Christian and the girls also chose to follow Christ. I am sure things were still tough but from what I could tell by Maza’s voice and gestures, these were happy times. Then four years ago, when Maza was fifteen and Baiza eleven, their mother died. We didn’t ask why or how or how they have managed till now.  I still don’t know the answers but I believe Baiza and Maza are still struggling to lift that heavy shroud from their young shoulders.

As far as I could tell, Maza has been looking after her sister for the past four years. Somehow they have managed to keep a house and the furniture that belonged to their parents. Baiza, who is now fifteen, lives at home, alone; while her sister is currently studying at the university in Nazret. Maza comes back every Sunday to visit. We asked if anyone was looking after Baiza and were glad to hear that their friends looked in from time to time.

I guess this is a story of strength and God’s faithfulness. I am nineteen years old and I can’t imagine how hard it would be to be fifteen and taking care of my sisters, trying to fill the roll of mother and father and being the breadwinner and still going to school and keeping my grades up so that maybe one day I could go to university and then get a good job. I can’t imagine being eleven and losing my mother, my sole caregiver. I can’t imagine the pain and sorrow of watching my sister struggle to support us and trying to fill the spot of my mother, of trying to teach me things my mother should have, and tell me the stories that should have been my mother’s to tell. And yet by the grace and love of their Heavenly Father they have survived and are glowing. Their church family and friends have been most supportive and Maza told us how she and her sister are in the choir at church. There was a certain sadness that still clings to that house but the sisters who live in that dark house shine with love for each other. We weren’t supposed to but we gave them a gift, to cover the cost of the bajaj and a little extra so that the two sisters could treat themselves. The tears in Maza’s eyes were priceless.