I wrote this back in 2004 while serving with MTW in Ethiopia. One day in particular was very difficult for me. Most days were spent doing our rounds with our AIDS patients- visiting them in their homes, giving them money, food or medicine, and mostly spiritual encouragement. Many of them were in decent shape, but Alemitu was one woman in particular who was doing very poorly and it broke my heart. (By the way, the picture above is not her) This is what I wrote that night in my bed....

Alemitu

im sitting in your closet
and i cant understand
how someone could live
in these four walls over sand

i smell your waste under
the bed, in buckets with flies
and ants the only ones moving instead
somehow no tears in your eyes

even though mine are
about to flood with many
you lay in your bed with no
might to earn a penny

im afraid to breathe
afraid to ingest the scent
because i can almost touch
the filth in the air so stagnant

your eyes half open
your heart half shut
shallow breaths escape your mouth
encircling in this hut

you love the One that gives you life
im thankful youre here
but its full of pain and full of strife
and i almost with you would

leave this place so fast that
your pain would disappear
and youd be gone from here
and into your Fathers sight so clear

may He keep you safe Alemitu
but not too long

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This is what I wrote earlier that day in my journal...

Teddy greets a beautiful young girl with a wonderful smile. She greets him back and welcomes us into their home. We step up on small cement blocks past a metal door that's about to fall off. To our right are 3 or 4 children sitting in stacked up used tires, a cat with red crusty eyes and a malnutritioned stomach, trash and unidentifiable waste. Straight ahead are two other doors leading into other small homes. To our left is our beneficiaries' home. There is no light in this room except for the sunshine from the door, so I don't really know where I'm stepping, without following the backs of Jennifer in front of me. The room is about 12 feet by 7. They tell us to sit down, so Jennifer and I find chairs to the left. Straight into the room is a single bed, where Teddy sits and greets a young girl that is laying on it. The floor is as uneven as the road and has scrap lenoleum tiles that cover the surface. There is a wooden box where I suspect she keeps her food, right in front of the hundreds of ants that line her wall. The walls are covered in Amharic and English products and posters. Mary and Jesus are there too. The walls were obviously made with mud, sticks and paper because I can see some newspaper under the thin surface of paint and cracks. Beside her bed is a stand which has sterile medication with Amharic writing on it.

The young lady on the red flowered mattress covers herself with another white blanket. She is laying on her right side, facing the doorway and her visitors with one hand under her cheek and the other beside her first hand. She doesn't move, except that she breathes very quickly and shallow. Her eyes are barely open but her large lips are, showing her beautiful white teeth. Her legs are crossed; they're so small, I wondered where the rest of her body was, it looked like an illusion. Her mattress is probably 2 inches thick so her hip bone hurts from lying on her side. Her muscles are sunken in by her cheekbones and are discolored a little darker. Her name is Alemitu and she is infected with AIDS. She had just come back from the hospital a few days before and is in much pain. Her friends in Sudan want her to come home, but she's afraid that the trip home would make her too weak. What her friends don't want to tell her is that they want her to come home to die. Her parents are somewhere in Ethiopia, but only suspect her of having AIDS. She's afraid to tell them. Her community knows and rejects her for it; they give her no aid and ban her for her disease. She cannot work, and the only thing keeping her alive is her older friend, the landlord.

This lady already has many children of her own. She cannot work because she must take care of her children and her sick friend. Her only income is 120 burr a month, which is about $14. The community has also banned her because she is taking care of her friend. She gives her medicine, helps her use the bathroom, helps her go to the hospital and get into bed. The patient did not ask for her help, but the landlord insisted on helping her friend, of which she has paid dearly for. Teddy talks to both the patient and the landlord; asking them about her medication, her status, etc. The young woman can barely speak, and most of what she says is a slurred "eshi", which means okay, hello, goodbye, etc. I ask Teddy how old she is. He doesn't remember so he asks her. She does not know. She has no idea how old she is. Teddy says many Ethiopians do not know. At that point my tears were being held back. She is a Christian and has hope, thank the Lord. Teddy reminds her of her hope in Christ, reads the scripture to her, and we pray with her, placing our fat hands on her tiny legs. We exchange "eshi's" and "caio's" while smiling and shaking our hands and heads at both patient and landlord. How can I smile after that?

I think Alemitu died shortly after I wrote this.