Urban poverty is a funny cat

The city can be a beautiful place. Splashy amenities, entertainment, cafes for a mid-afternoon break... it’s the world at your fingertips! And then there’s those on the margins. Ooh yah. What do we “do” about “those”?

“Here” (Canada) or “there” (Ethiopia). Urban poverty. It’s a different story.. or mosaic of stories... than rural poverty. Clean water, agriculture, sanitation. Those sometimes, are a bit easier. To grasp and to swallow.  

This is just barely a story, and most likely will come out somewhat scattered, but somewhere to start. 

Addis Ababa is a bustling place. Hotels, restaurants, air-conditioned, escalator’ed malls. It’s sometimes not a far cry from the familiar comforts of "home". As soon as we stepped foot outside the hotel, we are confronted //surrounded// by a very real reality that we don’t see here – at least quite so much and so readily: kids on the street. Kids running up with open hands. Young mothers with babies on their backs, putting fingers to their mouths to ask for food. Kids peering little faces into our van windows, sometimes with a little box of gum or pocket tissues for a sale. The dusty, worn reality of these kids in tattered rags makes "dirt poor" ring with really different tone than we so often use with flippancy. A picture would tell volumes more.. but I didn't take any.

“Please 1 birr” (6 cents) ? 

I was with a group of senior highschool students (more about them later). Some of them have part time jobs – waitressing, cashiering. ALL of them stressing about calculus homework and AP biology exams.  They are the lucky ones. They have grades for university to worry about.  I just stop and celebrate that. Side note: “#firstworldproblems" ? I hate that. 

In Addis, the challenges multiply when you realize there’s HIV/AIDS in the mix. Too many die from the deadly disease each year, victims of poverty and the sex trade. And too many still leave children behind. It’s little wonder – though definitely grief – there are so many children desperate for a dollar – or just one birr – on the streets.  “Too many.”

What do you do? 

I “befriended” this little girl last year. Sort of. Not really. I spent a couple days in Addis on my own before the team arrived last year and there was this little 4 year old, always outside my hotel, always with a beautiful set of smiley, curious eyes. And always more pocket tissue than I could need.

A hotel staff would come by to translate after my first Amharic hello always gave way to charades:

What’s your name?

(something I couldn’t pronounce very well)

How old are you?

(puts 4 fingers up)

Where’s your mom?

(points down the street)

Do you have brothers and sisters?

(smiles and nods)

Where are they?

They’re working too. [ie, selling gum & tissue]

I found her outside as I stepped out of my hotel just as I had a pinch more free time in the afternoon my last day.

Should we get something to eat?

(eager nod)

There was a glitzy glass-walled coffee shop across the street, so we crossed the road. She knew where she was(n’t) welcome, so she stayed on the street while I stepped up on the entrance and went inside.

I went in and asked if I could buy a pastry or cake for the little girl (yes). Can she come in and pick it out? One of the staff, bless his heart, was extravagantly kind, went out and called her in. She picked out a piece of cake that caught her eye and some cookies to pack away for her family. Can we eat it here? They seated us at a table & helped her climb up on the big chair.

I didn’t talk to her much again for the rest of the time we were there, because before her first bite, her eyes had caught sight of a giant flatscreen TV on the wall. (hands still wrapped around a package of tissues)

It was a Tour de France race. I still smile remembering that little smile of hers. I still smile. :) Eyes perplexed then delightedly wide, the corners of a gasp-opened mouth crept up into a smile that stayed just as-is for the next hour or so as spandex-clad cyclists zipped across the screen.

 

I don't hope to be exploitative in sharing these pictures. And that disclaimer, I know, changes little. We are so imperfect in our pursuit of justice. Even in our best efforts, though we try – and oh, I try!  - our pursuit of God and our pursuit of justice is so imperfect. So flawed. Yet there is grace. And God still delights. And offers us His delight in sharing in His justice, which is perfect. Wholly perfect. We get a glimpse as we take part.

Should I have brought her in there? I don’t know. Nothing’s “changed”, and there’s definitely room to see more harm done than good. I know. Injustice might not have very clean & tidy good answers. Easy fixes are hard to come by, all the more for urban poverty. I have not seen her again since that last day; I didn’t find her again this year and of course, I didn’t expect to. I have no idea where she is or how she is. To be honest, I’ve thought of her little until I got back to Addis this year. A few times, but not many. Back in Addis, I looked into the faces of many little kids wondering if I might see her smile. (Or even more honestly, wondering if I would recognize her if I did).

For her, I have done nothing and am doing nothing to meet real needs. Except maybe, just maybe and just a little, in the big, marble-clad, cafe-culture, trendy city of Addis, shake the status quo, just a little. If I can even suppose that much. I wonder if they ever let her in again.

But maybe for myself, I’ve entered into the reality of life on the streets of Addis. The kids are not a sea of faces. They are real little people, with real lives, real stories that go on. Whether I am aware or not, whether I am involved or not. Whether I blur them into a general common story of misfortune, or if I take the time to know their life & their story uniquely.

But maybe most of all, I come to treasure a little more myself our support & care for the AIDS orphans in Addis. It’s not-perfect, not-easy, not-tidy... but for these kids, it’s real. It’s sustainable. It’s life-changing for good. So also it is for me. 

It's not a quick fix, but maybe that's never what they were asking for. Maybe just a walk alongside.

By a twist of grace, I’ve found myself somewhat responsible for children orphaned by AIDS in Addis. For now, about 400 of them directly.

And for these kids, and hopefully more, “urban poverty” doesn’t end at a conundrum.

And for those through which that has become true, who have gone before me, or have since joined me..  Thank You. :)

More about this little girl later. 

And disclaimer again, this is my personal blog. These are my thoughts, not my work's, and represent nothing more or less than just my wanderings that you're welcome to join into. :)

Urban poverty is a funny cat.