Ethiopia to Cincinnati
Cincinnati, Ohio
I AM GLANCING at the page of a menu in an Ethiopian restaurant in Cincinnati. I am here on a layover with Delta and this restaurant is right across the street from my hotel. The place smells like Pine-Sol and there are dead flies on the windowsill next to my table. It is lunchtime and I’m the only patron here.
The server hovers over me, asking if I have ever tasted Ethiopian food. “No,” I answer, so she enthusiastically makes some recommendations. She’s Ethiopian and eager to find a dish I will enjoy. “Not too spicy, please,” I request, and I want to try injera, the famous bread I’ve heard so much about.
While I wait for my order, a woman enters the restaurant. I can’t help but overhear her conversation with the server. She has a friend, an Ethiopian missionary, who will be visiting Cincinnati and she wants to find a restaurant should he get homesick for his favorite food. She takes a seat at the table next to mine. We start talking, and I invite her to join me at my table for lunch.
Her missionary friend has a three-year-old daughter who has Hirschsprung’s disease, a colorectal defect easily corrected by surgery in the USA, not so easily treated when you live in the Horn of Africa and your father makes $300 a year. Kalkidan is coming to the States for surgery in three months, thanks to the efforts of Grace and a prayer group from her tiny 50-member Baptist church. Someone who had a child who was treated successfully for the same disease put Grace in touch with doctors in Cincinnati who will treat Kalkidan for free.
All Grace needs to do is raise funds for airfare and living expenses for Kalkidan and her father, Gashoy. The Ethiopian government would not issue an exit visa for the mother, who is essentially being held back in the country to insure the two travelers will return. Grace took out a loan to cover the $7000 airfare, and has raised about $2000 in donations so far.
I am captivated by the story. I try to figure out a way to fly them to Cincinnati using my Delta buddy passes, but Grace has already purchased tickets on Ethiopian Airlines. Grace’s husband has a free ticket courtesy of a pilot friend so he will meet Kalkidan and her father in Washington, DC and escort them to Ohio.
I ask Grace if she has gone to the media with this wonderful humanitarian story. She has not. I tell her she must call the newspaper and the TV stations, get the word out, for surely it will touch people the way it touches me.
Our lunch arrives. It is very strange. My curry stew, murky brown with a quarter-inch layer of oil floating on top, tastes way too spicy for me. The famous bread I had heard so much about is spongy and thick, resembling a pancake on steroids with an unpleasant vinegary taste.
Grace is also disappointed with her meal. We push the food around on our plates and decide our foray into the exotic cuisines of the world is a dismal failure. We exchange email addresses and promise to stay in touch.
With my encouragement, Grace contacts the media and promptly raises $20,000. She also gets Ethiopian Airlines to donate the airfare. A letter from the head of the airline is posted on Grace’s website, written in very stilted, formal English. The author says, “The company will gladly donate the airfare for Kalkidan and her father. Perhaps one day this little girl will grow up to honor her parents and serve her country.” I wonder who or what shamed the airline into providing free tickets.
For months afterward, I check Kalkidan’s progress via the website. The picture of this three-year-old girl and her daddy are wonderful- Gashoy with a gift of Ethiopian coffee for the church congregation, Kalkidan tasting pizza and ice cream for the first time, lots of parties and social events, a community warmly embracing them.
The major abdominal surgery is a great success and after a hospital stay and a long recuperation, preparations are made for their return to Ethiopia. More photos are posted on the website. Kalkidan looks like an all-American kid with her t-shirt and jeans, little pink sneakers, big stuffed toys and balloons in each hand. Her father attended classes so he can bring knowledge and education back to his country, information about the scourge of Africa, HIV. The last photo shows them boarding the aircraft, waving to the camera. An anxious mother awaits their arrival in Ethiopia.
I email Grace. I have an idea. What if we went to visit them in Ethiopia the following spring? We could take Delta to Rome, then catch an Ethiopian Airlines flight to Addis Ababa, about a 6-hour flight. We could bring school supplies, clothing, all sorts of donations in our checked luggage and carry on board the personal things we would need for the trip. I’m very excited, read everything I can find on Ethiopia. I learn Kalkidan means “miracle” in Amharic.
I never hear from Grace again. I shelve my dreams of visiting Ethiopia. Why go someplace where I can’t stand the food?
