A Green Famine

Well, our best intentions to keep our communication up-to-date were fumbled by sparse electricity, unavailable transportation, and uncertain internet.  Here’s a late report from our last full month in Ethiopia:

Last May, rain became uncommonly common.  While people think of Ethiopia as dry and hot; the climate in the highlands region is actually in the mid-80s nearly all of the time.  For much of the year, we frequently saw rain clouds spying over the mountain ridge just above us.  They always seemed to glide alongside the ridge and never spill over.  Starting around February and March however, rain was present and unpredictable.

Our friends let us know May was to be the hottest and dryest month.  What a surprise when we got two weeks strait of rain.  In these conditions, one begins to be acquainted with the term “green famine.”  Basically a green famine happens when there is plenty of rain, causing plants to sprout up, but there is inadequate sunshine.  During previous famines, United Nations representatives drove by fields of maize and wondered what the problem was.  Knowing better, the Ethiopian drivers pulled over, opened up corn husks, and revealed their empty insides.

A “green famine” is actually more devastating than a traditional famine.  Not only do farmers have their high expectations crashed, but the fields don’t get the rest that a normal “dry” famine brings.

In mid-May we walked with our friend Alem-Seged to a rural church.  The worship exploded in the small mud and straw-sided building.  The congregants were gracious hosts and the end of the service (as always).. so we were sad when we heard the rain start.  Alem-Seged led us running through the narrow muddy trails to the main road.  As it really started pouring, he led us to a tent that was set-up for a wake/funeral gathering.  We quickly recognized two of the grandchildren as our 7th grade students.  Without hesitation they invited us inside.  In a moment, we stood in a dark, crowded room of mourners.

It doesn’t matter how distant the relative, how hated the enemy; when someone dies, you pay your respects.  The actual funeral is filled with sobbing and grief.  It’s refreshing to see people engage their emotions.. it’s like they’re ready to move on (rather than holding pain inside as we do).  The family had a three-room house.  Our eye’s quickly adjusted to the darkness and saw 25 mostly elderly people sitting beside us.  There was conversation, but with the rain beating upon sheet metal roof, we couldn’t hear much.  We mostly smiled and showed our non-verbal gratitude for the cover.

Alem-Seged is an outgoing man.  Is daily job is an HIV counselor at the hospital; but he loves to share the Gospel of Jesus.  It didn’t surprise us when he asked permission to share a few words.  Alem-Seged joyfully spoke over the pounding rain above.  At one point, a non-believing man addressed him saying, “Jesus cannot be God.”  Being from the far eastern city of Harar, Alem-Seged was familiar with this challenge.  He responded,

“You know that Jesus’ mother was Mary.  And you believe she was a virgin, and that when the Holy Spirit came upon her, she was with child.  Yes, He did receive the human nature from Mary, but the very seed of God came to earth and He became a man.”

While some people pressed their hands against their ears, many smiled and nodded in agreement.  Just as he was finishing, the rain slowed.  I was impressed that no matter one’s religious orientation, we were gladly welcomed by all as we left.  One woman stood with us as it was time to go.  Alem-seged shared that she wanted to give her life to Jesus.  During the rest of the walk home, she shared how she had come from a village far away.  She didn’t expect to come, but changed her mind at the last second.

For part, the story of the flooding continues.  You’ll hear how God used us to answer an unbelievable prayer.