Saturday, May 12, 2007
Luncheon with the President
Our second visit to Agoheld Orphanage was a luncheon affair under a large tent in a compound across the street and separate from the main campus.
Security was tight because the president of Ethiopia was in attendance.
Everyone was searched upon entering the gate of the “L” shaped compound.
Directly ahead upon entry was a wall of student artwork and some promotional displays. Fabric, draped above, shaded that area. Along the same wall, to the right, was a bazaar where we bought many colorful garments manufactured by the residents.
To the right from there were tables under a tent, set up for the meal. To the left, at the far end of the tent was an area with no tables. A colorful carpet led the way to a portable stage.
Behind the tables was the serving area where there were more tables, laden with an abundance of traditional Ethiopian food. To the right of those was raw beef hanging on hooks.
We enjoyed the food except the raw meat, which we declined. Drinks were mostly soda or home made honey wine, a product of the orphanage.
After the food was served and the seemingly endless awards to current and former students were made, nine-year old Fetelework walked away to visit with friends and was gone a very long time.
Finally the presentations ended, the president and his entourage departed, the crowd thinned out, the tables were cleared, and up on the stage a group of children began playing traditional music on African instruments.
Out of the darkness from behind the musicians she suddenly appeared with several other girls, all wearing traditional costumes. They took position in front of the stage, the music began again and they danced!
The rug on the ground was like the fairy tale carpet whisking her away to a magical place. She was Cinderella at the ball; She was Esther dancing before the king; She was Miriam dancing with her tambourine.
Her black eyes flashed in pools of white. She threw back her head, her shoulders rotated in time with the music, her long black hair was flying. She laughed, reveling in the freedom of it, her teeth, like pearls, glimmering. Arms flowing like the delicate fabric that covered them, our little deaf girl danced.
Ain't God good?
Our second visit to Agoheld Orphanage was a luncheon affair under a large tent in a compound across the street and separate from the main campus.
Security was tight because the president of Ethiopia was in attendance.
Everyone was searched upon entering the gate of the “L” shaped compound.
Directly ahead upon entry was a wall of student artwork and some promotional displays. Fabric, draped above, shaded that area. Along the same wall, to the right, was a bazaar where we bought many colorful garments manufactured by the residents.
To the right from there were tables under a tent, set up for the meal. To the left, at the far end of the tent was an area with no tables. A colorful carpet led the way to a portable stage.
Behind the tables was the serving area where there were more tables, laden with an abundance of traditional Ethiopian food. To the right of those was raw beef hanging on hooks.
We enjoyed the food except the raw meat, which we declined. Drinks were mostly soda or home made honey wine, a product of the orphanage.
After the food was served and the seemingly endless awards to current and former students were made, nine-year old Fetelework walked away to visit with friends and was gone a very long time.
Finally the presentations ended, the president and his entourage departed, the crowd thinned out, the tables were cleared, and up on the stage a group of children began playing traditional music on African instruments.
Out of the darkness from behind the musicians she suddenly appeared with several other girls, all wearing traditional costumes. They took position in front of the stage, the music began again and they danced!
The rug on the ground was like the fairy tale carpet whisking her away to a magical place. She was Cinderella at the ball; She was Esther dancing before the king; She was Miriam dancing with her tambourine.
Her black eyes flashed in pools of white. She threw back her head, her shoulders rotated in time with the music, her long black hair was flying. She laughed, reveling in the freedom of it, her teeth, like pearls, glimmering. Arms flowing like the delicate fabric that covered them, our little deaf girl danced.
Ain't God good?
