Refugees have been a daily part of my life for years now and I talk about them and tell stories and ask for donations from all of my family and friends- I am sure ad nauseum-but with them being such a huge, important part of my existence, well I guess you get it- you are going to hear a lot about them.
Almost all of the refugees I am in contact with are basically just clients. We provide our services for them and then move on. But there are exceptions. There are the folks that enter your heart and never leave. For me, it’s Tiko’s family. Tiko was an Ethiopian man who taught me more about life in the few short months I had him in my life than most of the people I have come across in my forty four years. He wept in my office as he told me about the three sons he missed, the boys left behind in Kenya. He and his entire family, dressed in their very best, visited me at work to offer their condolences for my father. Tiko took my hands and said to me, “He is with Jesus now.” I once asked Tiko what was his favorite American food and his eyes lit up and he said “hamburger.” He taught me that being a good parent means letting your children be free so they can learn. I cried at his funeral like I had lost my father all over again.
Nicholas and I have spent many hours with the remaining family members and we are always included for holidays, which I find particularly sweet because holidays are for family. There is my Ethiopian mama- Tsehay, Tsigereda, the stalwart, oldest daughter, Konjit, the middle daughter whose beauty and utter hipness stop me in my tracks every time I am with her, Hanna, the sweet, yet sometimes heartbreaking youngest daughter and Ashenafi, the only son here. They dote on Nicholas like a little Ethiopian prince and fill his hands with popcorn, cookies, juice and tea. They offer him pillows and make special dishes for him because they know he can’t eat eggs. They pet him and love on him and he bats his big brown eyes at all of these women. I offer him a stark reality check when we leave.
Christmas dinner with them was beautiful. They made all my favorites dishes including doro wat and kitfo which is very spicy raw meat that I can’t resist. We sat around the table and Konjit offered a prayer for our good fortune and she called me her sister. Pleasure soon became pain because I ate normal-sized portions of the cuisine I love, but that is never even close to satisfactory for Ethiopians. I could see Mama Tsehay giving sideways glances at my plate, still piled with food. She forced more rolls of injera into my hands and spooned massive amounts of doro wat on my plate. I always know when I overeat because my clavicle begins to ache- it was throbbing. After all these years I still haven’t found the strength to stop the food deluge and still maintain cultural sensitivity to their intense need to feed. At least they don’t physically place food in my mouth as I have had other Ethiopians do. Konjit said, “GiGi, finish what’s on your plate and then we will have coffee.” A chicken leg, an entire boiled egg, Ethiopian cheese, more wat, greens, potatoes, carrots, two rolls of injera…ok do you get it? Nicholas, who seems to eat his own weight in food everyday, looked pleadingly at me and said he couldn’t eat another bite of food. And then they put more on his plate too. Like a little kid trying to fool mom about how much I ate for dinner, I took a few more bites and then scooted food around my plate to make it look like there was less food on my plate.
Thank goodness for the coffee ceremony! Konjit spread a bright green grass mat on the floor, plugged in the the little burner and began roasting coffee beans. The small flat green beans slowly turned a dark brown and the smell was heavenly. While the beans were roasting Konjit made popcorn- an Ethiopian treat with coffee. Finally, the coffee was ready and Konjit poured it into delicate little cups bearing an image of the Ethiopian flag- a treasure they managed to escape with. I drank cup after cup- I now had more room because this entire process took two hours.
While Nicholas played with Tsehay and Hanna, Konjit and I talked in quiet voices over more coffee. We talked about Petros, Tedla and Yeshitla, the sons still left in Nairobi. I wanted so badly to tell her I could wave the magic wand of immigration and bring them here. There is nothing anyone can do and that is the hardest part. She told me that they talk all the time and can email. She said they know all about Nicholas and me and Tsehay even sent them a picture of us. I was touched beyond belief.
My wish for them in the new year is that they will receive the long-awaited news that the three boys will be reunited with their family. They are all lovely and sweet and charming and generous and I feel like one of the family whenever I am with them. And I feel like the most blessed person having them in my life.