Day 1

"It was not lack of ability that limited my people, but lack of opportunity." -Tatomkhula

My life has been an endless blessing of limitless opportunity, many times given freely to me and a few I have managed to earn for myself. Yet I must still remind myself that I am no more special or gifted than the beggars who line the streets of Addis or the convict who is serving time for his crimes. Arrogance is poisonous and continues to cripple us as individuals and as a nation...

To understand this moment , I should at least provide you with some sort of info leading up to this special day. As many of you already know (and some who do not) I was adopted at the age of six. Ironically, I grew up on Churchill Blvd, unlike its name; it was like many other streets, flourishing with struggling families oppressed by political strife and consumed by poverty.

My house, like most, was a one room shack (about 12x12 feet) made of mud and sticks with a tin roof. No electricity, not running water, a dirt floor and the only furniture consisted of two flimsy beds. Water was collected by one communal faucet shared by a dozen houses. In addition to me, our household consisted of my mother, one year old sister and grandmother (who I found out years later to just be an old lady who took us in).

This blog would turn into a book if I listed out the events that lead up to me coming to America so I will put it into three sentences. One day I was sitting on the corner of Churchill Blvd and a “farange” , forgive my spelling but it means white foreigner in Amharic (the official language of Ethiopia), saw me and was taken by how unhealthy and malnourished I looked. As it turned out, I was in critical need for medical attention if I was to make it to my next birthday. My farange sponsor got me a student visa (something unheard of for a six year old) and brought me to America. Within a year I recovered 100% and with the request of my birth mother, my sponsors became my new adopted family.

Since then I have been back to visit my birth family three times; however, it has been almost six years (military and school) since I last returned and this time will be my first time going on my own.

We have sponsored my birth family since I first went to America. Therefore, my sister and mother are now comparatively much better than when I was a child. Nevertheless, I was still shocked at the conditions they were still living in.

They now live in a Ethiopian style townhouse. There are two big rooms, a living room and a bedroom they both share. The house is an actual building and is connected to four other houses and all together they share an Ethiopian style kitchen and a latrine. There is electricity (but the government chooses to turn it off entirely at least three days of the week). The entire compound shares one faucet that is centered in the middle of the five houses. It is decent and they are happy to be living there but the only emotion I could feel when i first stepped into the compound was shame and complete guilt...