Invigorated by my students

Five weeks into the semester, student numbers at Meserete Kristos Seminary continue to rise (now at 200). Some students were unable to travel five weeks ago due to violence in their part of the country, with killings still happening regularly. Overwhelmed teaching writing and speaking skills to 118 students, I hope no more students show up, but if they do, we faculty are to welcome them into our classes.

My students are mostly delightful, eager to learn, excited about having a foreigner like me teach them English, always ready to engage in conversation, filled with questions (edited here):

• Where are you from?
• How many children do you have?
• How is Ethiopia?
• What makes you happy?
• What food is popular in America? (When I said “Pizza,” the student asked, “What’s that?”)
• How many years have you been teaching?
• How can I improve my English?
• Can you teach extra classes at night?
• Can you help me with money? Shoes? A computer from the U.S.?
• Have you accepted Jesus as your Savior?
• When did you come to the Lord?
• What is your ministry in church?

We chat before class, or on the campus grounds, or more frequently during lunch and dinner in the dining hall. I eat with students most days (and join faculty twice a week). I take an occasional walk with students and get invited for coffee. When students aren’t asking me questions, I’m asking them—about what they’re learning in their other classes, about their families, English in high school, ethnic groups in Ethiopia, the political turmoil, their hopes for the future.

The most stunning question from a student hit me hard (unedited):

·       How you don’t start class by praying God?

Well now, I certainly do, since that is the expectation. I ask students to lead in prayer as well. They pray in their ethnic languages, mostly Amharic and Oromo, and sometimes in English. The room fills with a chorus of “Amens,” and we then begin learning.

My 118 students are first and second-year students, divided into three groups by when they started at the seminary (not by language proficiency, which would make for more effective learning). Seven are international students—five refugees from Eritrea, who fled religious persecution, and two refugees from South Sudan, who fled civil war. About 10% are female. This low number shocked me at first, but when Rose Shenk and Bruce Buckwalter, former MCC country reps in Ethiopia heard this, they told me that was progress!

The majority of my students are in their mid-twenties, but 20% are in their thirties, and a handful are forty or fifty. Most cannot afford the school fees (around $2,500 for tuition, room, and board for the year). Some left their full-time ministries—as pastors, evangelists, and teachers—to obtain a B.A. degree in Bible and Theology, Mission and Intercultural Studies, Peace and Development, or Leadership and Management. Some are sponsored by their home congregations and will return to work there after getting their degrees. Some receive scholarships or take part in the seminary’s cost-sharing program.

The students’ religious fervor became quickly evident when I read their hobbies on the info form that they filled out for me. In addition to playing football, listening to music, reading, and watching TV, a large percentage like reading the Bible and praying in their free time. One student mentioned drawing, one cooking, and one washing his clothes!

Many of my students come from farmer families in rural areas, where everyone works on the farm, and where there may not be indoor plumbing. Many come from large families. Bob with his eight brothers would fit right in, as 20% of my students have eight or more siblings.

Ethiopia is a big country, and many students are far from home. Travel takes both time and money, so it doesn’t happen often for those from far away. Most of my students live in the dorms on campus (one for males and one for females). One-third of my students are married and have children of their own. Their commitment to their studies is evident since it means months away from their spouses and children.

How can I learn 118 names in a few weeks’ time? (I meet each class only once a week for three hours.) First, name cards on the desks. Second, photos of the students holding their name cards that I could look at before class. This week, I gave up the name cards, knowing about 90% by now. I hope the other 10% sinks in soon! When I meet students in the cafeteria, the context is different, and I don’t always remember which class they are in, let alone their names. I’ve had to humbly and apologetically ask names again and again. But my students seem pleased with the attention I’m giving.

This week I wrote down the meanings of all their names. Students in the dining hall helped me. Some names are Biblical, like Amanuel, Adamu, Bethlehem, Daniel, and Yosef. Others may have a religious or non-religious connotation—Dinsa (healer), Dugasa (truth), Feyera (deliverer), Fikadu (love), Girma (glory), Masgana (thanks), Selam (peace), Tamiru (miracle), Tesfaye (hope), Wakgari (God is good), Bakila (fruitful), Biftu (sun), Dereje (grow), Gemechu (happy), Habtamu (rich), Kefyalew (highest), Leta (branch), Mezgebu (treasure), Obsa (opposite), Takele (guard), Wondimu (brother).

My students and I are having fun in the classroom, and I’m even enjoying the effort it takes outside of class to mark the writing of 118 students, knowing that the writing process works and that most of my students will improve their skills over time. (More about English language teaching in Ethiopia and Meserete Kristos Seminary in future blog posts). To summarize, “I feel invigorated by my students!” (Of course, I happen to be writing this on a good day!)

A Visit to Assefa and Alem's

Assefa is the Head of Maintenance at Meserete Kristos Seminary, where I teach. Since my arrival, he has fixed three things for me—a plugged sink, a broken desk, and a small water-damaged area of my ceiling. We’ve chatted about our mutual friends, Jim and Peg Engle, and about our families. When he invited me home to meet his family, I did not hesitate to say yes.

On a Friday evening, Assefa and I walked from campus to his home. He and his neighbors exchanged greetings as we passed by on the dirt path. Upon arrival, his wife Alem warmly welcomed me and ushered me into their living room. The small space quickly filled with love and laughter. Three-year-old Dibora stood by her daddy’s side, mostly quiet except for her sniffles. Five-year-old Yonatan rarely stopped chattering as he bopped around the room, coughing. He proudly recited the days of the week in his native language, Oromifa, the language of the ethnic Oromo people. He had just been learning this in kindergarten. Eleven-year-old Jitu showed me her fourth-grade school book called English for Ethiopia and read from the chapter she was working on. She showed me her exercise book too. Though the teaching methodology of copy and recite may be different from my own approach to language teaching, Jitu loves English! She reminded me of myself at her age—I loved learning, whatever the subject.

I thought I was going for coffee, but a full spread was set before me on the coffee table--pasta with tomato sauce, rice with green beans and carrots, spicy lentils, fried broccoli, steamed chard, and homemade French fries, or chips, as they are known here. It looked like a feast! There was injera and bread too. “This is amazing,” I said, and Alem replied, “It’s no problem,” an oft-heard expression in Ethiopian culture.

Assefa stood to pray in Oromifa, and then I stood to pray in English. At the end of each of my declarations of gratitude to God, the family said in chorus “Amen.” My students do this as well as we pray in class each morning.

As Assefa, the children, and I began eating, I asked Alem when she was going to eat. Though she smiled and said she would, she never did sit down to eat. She kept refilling plates, mine included. She kept prodding me on—“Eat! Eat!”—as she put more chips on my plate. When I couldn’t eat anything else, I asked her how to say “I’m full” in Amharic, the language that I’m trying to learn. (Theirs is a tri-lingual home, as are many homes in Ethiopia.) “Tagabeku,” she told me, and I said, “Tagabeku.” I added some words I already knew: “Itafetal”—Tasty, and “Amasaggenalehu”—Thank you!

After supper, the children went outside to play, and the three of us adults had coffee. Ethiopia is known as the birthplace of coffee, and coffee is Ethiopia’s top export today. Coffee, or “bunna” is a big deal here. Three times a day, Alem roasts the green coffee beans in an iron skillet over a small charcoal fire. She then pounds the beans with a large mortar and pestle, using her arm strength to reach a fine grind. She places the grounds in the bottom of the ceramic pot, then adds boiling water cup by cup. There’s some pouring and mixing back and forth till it comes out just right. A spoonful of sugar and a swish of an herb called tena’adam (rue) were added to my tiny cup of brew. Rich, brown, aromatic, delicious! Popcorn accompanied the drink, as is customary. That evening, I witnessed the fine art of coffee making.

Assefa, Alem, and I chatted while enjoying our coffee. I learned about their first meeting, their move to this area and finding work, their having children, and their families back home, far from here. I shared photos of my Archbold, Ohio family of origin and photos of my husband Bob and his art work.

We took pictures (Alem's little sister included) and said goodbye; then Assefa walked me back to campus. My heart was full from the warm hospitality shown me on my first home visit in Ethiopia.

The True Cross

I came to Ethiopia at a good time. The rainy season is ending, fields are a lush green, flowers bloom. On September 27, I got to experience the two-day holiday named Meskel, the Finding of the True Cross, a key Orthodox festival in Ethiopia. According to tradition, Roman Empress Helena, mother of Constantine the Great, traveled to Jerusalem in the fourth century and found the cross upon which Jesus was crucified. She did so by having a fire built and letting the smoke lead her to the site where the cross was buried. The story goes that part of the cross—the right arm—made its way to Ethiopia where it remains today.

Every year, Ethiopian Orthodox devotees gather in town squares to listen to priests chanting and to receive a blessing as a large wooden cross is moved through the crowds and a big bonfire is built to remember Helena’s fire that led her to the true cross. Wearing traditional cotton shawls and holding yellow Meskel daisies, attendees dance, sing, ululate, and light candles. They then go home and make their own bonfires where neighbors come together till late at night. The next day is a day for family and food.

Meserete Kristos Seminary, where I work, is an evangelical Christian institution, so my colleagues and students believe that the “true cross” is within our hearts. Most of them did not attend a Meskel festival as my colleagues Yodahe, Werner and I did, yet they did gather with their families. For all Christians in Ethiopia, Meskel is a family time. Most of my students, however, could not be with their families on Meskel—because they live far from home and travel is not easy given the violence of the current situation. Though some were not impressed that the cafeteria had no special food for them, they did enjoy a day off from classes, even though we had just begun the week before! I’m grateful for the chance to experience Meskel.