Feleke, Thomas, and I leave for Ethiopia on July 30th. We're taking Feleke to visit his family, most of whom he hasn't seen in over a year as he has been in various hospitals. While we're there, Thomas and I will do some traveling around the country, seeing the sites -- Lalibela, Gondar, the Rift Valley. Also, I will spend a day or two doing research in Addis Ababa and Adama, trying to figure out how the Ethiopian government collects taxes. I'm a law professor at the University of Michigan, and I have a scholarly interest in tax policy, including how best to administer a tax system. We will also visit the family and medical practice of Dr. Rick Hodes. More about him below.
When we visit Feleke's family, we'll go to their village, Dafe Jema, which is a rural farming community far from any major city, and not really close to any small towns either. As remote as it is, you can see it for yourself. Just paste these coordinates into the Google Earth search window (8 38 40.33 N 39 49 38.30 E) and hit the search button. The result should be Dafe Jema. Now hit the plus button on the right and let Google Earth zoom in close. The result should look something like this.
The fence also protects the cows and other animals at night from the many hyenas and occasional leopards. If you zoom back out and scroll around, you can see that there are dozens of little farms like this one in the area. There is no source of fresh water close by. The farmers and their families go to the river, a mile or so to the west, to bathe and to get water for their animals. For their own drinking water, they collect rainwater and purchase bottled water from neighboring communities. It would be great if we could put a well in Dafe Jema, but our initial inquiries suggest this would be difficult.
The biggest building in Feleke's fenced-in compound, just below the largest tree in the center of the picture, is his house. He lives there with his mother, father, and three of his siblings (two sisters and one brother). This farm was passed down to Feleke's father, Biru, by Feleke's grandfather, Kumbi. In Ethiopia instead of surnames they use the first names of their fathers and their grandfathers. So Feleke's full name is Feleke Biru Kumbi.
When we go to Dafe Jema, it will be an international, cross-cultural family reunion. The Biru Kumbis from Dafe Jema and the Logues from Ann Arbor, coming together. Here is a picture of some of the Biru Kumbis.
So Thomas, Feleke, and I are going there, at the end of July. It should be a blast. There will be lots of hugging and laughing and storytelling, and maybe some crying. Much injera will be eaten. Much soccer will be played. To be followed by more hugging and crying, and eventually saying goodbye. Then we'll come back to Ann Arbor, the three of us. At least that's the plan.
That is Feleke's home. At least we think it is. He and I stumbled on it one night while we were trolling across the Ethiopian landscape using Google Earth on the iPad. If you zoom in really close you can see that this is a picture of several round mud-walled and thatch-roofed buildings surrounded by a fence. The fence marks a boundary between the land that "belongs" to Feleke's family and the land that is "owned" communally by all the farmers in the area. I use quotation marks to signify the uncertain nature of ownership rights in Ethiopia. Under the current regime, it is unclear whether any private citizen can own land in the sense in which we mean "own"; rather, they have long-term leases issued by the government. But whether that message has filtered down to the people on the ground -- whether they know they don't own their land -- isn't clear.
The fence also protects the cows and other animals at night from the many hyenas and occasional leopards. If you zoom back out and scroll around, you can see that there are dozens of little farms like this one in the area. There is no source of fresh water close by. The farmers and their families go to the river, a mile or so to the west, to bathe and to get water for their animals. For their own drinking water, they collect rainwater and purchase bottled water from neighboring communities. It would be great if we could put a well in Dafe Jema, but our initial inquiries suggest this would be difficult.
The biggest building in Feleke's fenced-in compound, just below the largest tree in the center of the picture, is his house. He lives there with his mother, father, and three of his siblings (two sisters and one brother). This farm was passed down to Feleke's father, Biru, by Feleke's grandfather, Kumbi. In Ethiopia instead of surnames they use the first names of their fathers and their grandfathers. So Feleke's full name is Feleke Biru Kumbi.
When we go to Dafe Jema, it will be an international, cross-cultural family reunion. The Biru Kumbis from Dafe Jema and the Logues from Ann Arbor, coming together. Here is a picture of some of the Biru Kumbis.
Going clockwise beginning at the top left: sisters Bayush and Kibinesh and brother Addisu (the three that still live at home in the village), Biru (the papa), Elfinish (the mama), Simeh (the oldest brother, all business, and Ethiopian police officer), Kabede (the brother we correspond with the most), Dajene (another of the older brothers), and Zewdinesh (the oldest sister, who just became engaged to be married). They are standing in front of Feleke's house. Here is another picture of the house, from a few steps back.
These pictures were taken by our friend Steven Weinberg, who visited the village in March. Here is a picture of him on his trip to Dafe Jema.
Feleke is coming back to Ann Arbor to live with us, at least for a year and maybe longer. If all goes well--if we can get Feleke's visa status changed from B2 to F1, which requires us to get him enrolled in a private school that is accredited to accept foreign exchange students (and that we can find some way to pay for), and if we can establish guardianship so that we can get him on our health insurance plan, and so on--he will be staying with us to try going to school in the US. This is what Feleke's parents have told us they want for him. In fact, they have told us that they want him to continue living in America, with us, as long as we will have him, both because of the superior medical care available in the US (should Feleke's cancer return) and because of the greater overall opportunities for him here. They will miss him dearly, but they think this is best for him.
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We first met Feleke in mid January. Immediately before that, he had been a patient at the Mother Teresa Medical Mission in Addis Ababa, under the care of Dr. Rick Hodes. (I will have more to say about Dr. Hodes in future posts. It's difficult to overemphasize how awesome he is. If you want to read about him now, you can check out his website here. Or watch some videos about him here. Steven Weinberg has been working with Dr. Hodes in Addis for the past few months. He will return to be a medical student at UM, starting in the fall.) Anyway, Dr. Hodes figured out that Feleke was suffering from Hodgkins Lymphoma, cancer of the lymph nodes, which would likely be fatal without the proper treatment, treatment Feleke was not able to get in Ethiopia. He figured this out with the help of visiting oncologist, Dr. Jeff Forman, who confirmed the diagnosis.
Here is a picture of Feleke with Dr. Forman in the Mother Teresa clinic last November.
The next part of the story is big: Not only did Dr. Forman confirm the diagnosis, but he agreed to provide Feleke with radiation treatment that would likely save his life, and he would do it for free, if Dr. Hodes could only find some way to get Feleke to Dr. Forman's clinic in the US. That was all Dr. Hodes needed to hear. Through his website and his affiliation with the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee, he found a donor to pay for the plane ticket. At that point, the only remaining needs were a place for Feleke to stay and someone to coordinate the driving to Dr. Forman's clinic. That's where the story stood when we heard about it. (You can read about that story too here.)
My wife (Ruth Ann) learned about Feleke for the first time in early January through a very generous and caring and well-connected friend who had heard about the situation and thought we might be able to help. She knew that two of our five children were away in school--actually just across town at the University of Michigan--and thus that we might temporarily have an extra bedroom. She also knew that Ruth Ann was trained as a nurse, and thus would have not trouble dealing with any special needs Feleke might have as a cancer patient, and that Ruth Ann was a supermom. We talked it over and decided to offer to host Feleke. When they took us up on it, Rutth Ann set about getting a bedroom ready for Feleke and finding volunteers to help with the driving to the clinic.
That was in January. Here it is June, and the treatments are done. Actually, they've been done for weeks. And they seem to have worked. Feleke's lymph nodes are pretty much back to normal, and there is no sign of the cancer. This particular treatment has a very high success rate generally, and Dr. Forman is very good at what he does. So Feleke is feeling great. (Thanks also to his pediatrician, Neal Weinberg--Steven's dad--who donates his time and expertise to "team Feleke.") Besides being healthy, Feleke is now fully incorporated into our family. He eats, sleeps, plays, and works with us. He helps with the dishes and with feeding the dogs. He keeps his room pretty neat. He follows the household rules, most of them, when we remind him--often without grumbling too much. He loves the Michigan Wolverines because we do, and he cheers for Lebron because that's who Thomas cheers for. He calls Ruth Ann "Mama" and me "Dad" because that's what our kids call us, and because that's how he thinks of us--his American parents. He adores my kids: Hannah (22), Molly (19), Thomas (15), Caroline (13), and Mary Claire (10). And he really, really adores Ruth Ann. (Who doesn't?)
As you can imagine there is sometimes conflict in the house. (Every day? Every other day?) But we are managing. Sometimes we have long sit-down discussions with Feleke about various topics--like why it is important to obey Mama and Dad, even when you don't fully understand the reasoning (or even understand the words they are using); or why there are limits on the amount of time children are allowed to spend on the computer or the Wii or the DS; or why sometimes you have to apologize to your sister even when you don't know exactly what you did wrong (and even when you've never been forced to apologize to your siblings before) and you have to accept your sister's apology even though you're still angry; or why we constantly have to talk about our "feelings" when that simply is never done in your culture; and why it's important to trust mama when she says that the dentist is not gong to hurt you (except for the small sting of the numbing needle), which is especially difficult to accept when you've been stuck hundreds of times with needles, sometimes by people who don't know what they're doing; and you have to trust dad when he says that even when you are sent to your room or told no or made to do stuff you don't want to do, we--all of us--love you, all the time, no matter what.
Here is a picture of Feleke with Dr. Forman in the Mother Teresa clinic last November.
My wife (Ruth Ann) learned about Feleke for the first time in early January through a very generous and caring and well-connected friend who had heard about the situation and thought we might be able to help. She knew that two of our five children were away in school--actually just across town at the University of Michigan--and thus that we might temporarily have an extra bedroom. She also knew that Ruth Ann was trained as a nurse, and thus would have not trouble dealing with any special needs Feleke might have as a cancer patient, and that Ruth Ann was a supermom. We talked it over and decided to offer to host Feleke. When they took us up on it, Rutth Ann set about getting a bedroom ready for Feleke and finding volunteers to help with the driving to the clinic.
That was in January. Here it is June, and the treatments are done. Actually, they've been done for weeks. And they seem to have worked. Feleke's lymph nodes are pretty much back to normal, and there is no sign of the cancer. This particular treatment has a very high success rate generally, and Dr. Forman is very good at what he does. So Feleke is feeling great. (Thanks also to his pediatrician, Neal Weinberg--Steven's dad--who donates his time and expertise to "team Feleke.") Besides being healthy, Feleke is now fully incorporated into our family. He eats, sleeps, plays, and works with us. He helps with the dishes and with feeding the dogs. He keeps his room pretty neat. He follows the household rules, most of them, when we remind him--often without grumbling too much. He loves the Michigan Wolverines because we do, and he cheers for Lebron because that's who Thomas cheers for. He calls Ruth Ann "Mama" and me "Dad" because that's what our kids call us, and because that's how he thinks of us--his American parents. He adores my kids: Hannah (22), Molly (19), Thomas (15), Caroline (13), and Mary Claire (10). And he really, really adores Ruth Ann. (Who doesn't?)
As you can imagine there is sometimes conflict in the house. (Every day? Every other day?) But we are managing. Sometimes we have long sit-down discussions with Feleke about various topics--like why it is important to obey Mama and Dad, even when you don't fully understand the reasoning (or even understand the words they are using); or why there are limits on the amount of time children are allowed to spend on the computer or the Wii or the DS; or why sometimes you have to apologize to your sister even when you don't know exactly what you did wrong (and even when you've never been forced to apologize to your siblings before) and you have to accept your sister's apology even though you're still angry; or why we constantly have to talk about our "feelings" when that simply is never done in your culture; and why it's important to trust mama when she says that the dentist is not gong to hurt you (except for the small sting of the numbing needle), which is especially difficult to accept when you've been stuck hundreds of times with needles, sometimes by people who don't know what they're doing; and you have to trust dad when he says that even when you are sent to your room or told no or made to do stuff you don't want to do, we--all of us--love you, all the time, no matter what.
When he arrived in January, Feleke spoke not one word of English and, although he was thankful to be getting good medical care, he was of course very scared to be so far from home in such a strange place with such strange (though friendly) people. He now can understand almost everything we say, if we are willing to speak slowly and clearly, though he sometimes pretends not to. He is also quickly learning how to put English sentences together himself. Language acquisition in a full-immersion environment is an amazing thing to behold.
Here are a few more recent pictures of Feleke.
This one is from his first day in Ann Arbor. That's Mary Claire on the left and Ruth Ann on the right.
I like this next one too. Feleke is standing with all of my kids in the parking lot after church.
From Feleke's perspective, there are some great things about living in Ann Arbor. Besides the absence of hyenas and leopards, he gets five cool new siblings, which is awesome; he gets to go to UM basketball games and be on a swim team and soccer team. He gets to spend some (though limited) time on the Wii and the DS and the TV. But in many other ways, life is hard. Of course he misses his family terribly. And he worries about them. His mother's health is not great, and he is concerned that it might get worse. He wishes she could get the benefit of the medical care he has had. He worries about his father too. Not about his health, so much, but about other dangers that exist in a rural community where ownership of a few cows can make you a target and where the police have no regular presence and therefore where daily law enforcement mostly takes the form of self help. Feleke also misses his many friends from Dafe Jema. One gets the feeling that life as a child in Dafe Jema, when things are good, is a blast. They get a lot of independent play time, and they have many adventures together. Here is a picture of the children from his school.
So there you have it. The lives of the Biru Kumbis and Logues have been changed forever, inextricably intertwined. There really isn't any going back. We, all of us, are on a journey together now, and we're not sure where it will lead. I will be posting messages here periodically as we prepare for our trip to Ethiopia. Then I'll blog a bit when we get there. I'm not sure if I'll keep the blog going after we return. Life is busy. But I will try along the way to tell some of the amazing stories Feleke has told us about his life in Dafe Jema. I hope I can do them justice. Some of the them may have to wait until Feleke is older and has his own blog, or writes his first book.
Here is one last picture of him next to our barn. I'll explain the "honey tree" title of the blog in a future post.
Here are a few more recent pictures of Feleke.
This one is from his first day in Ann Arbor. That's Mary Claire on the left and Ruth Ann on the right.
This was shortly after he had learned to ride a bike for the first time. That's Mary Claire on the other bike. Caroline taught Feleke to ride.
Here he is with Caroline and Mary Claire.
Here Dr. Forman came to our house to check on Feleke. I think the t-shirt says Michigan in Hebrew.
Here he is with Caroline and MC next to our barn. This is one of my favorite pictures. (Thanks Ken White.)
Here he is with Caroline and MC next to our barn. This is one of my favorite pictures. (Thanks Ken White.)
And here is a picture taken this past week. His hair is out of control, but he likes it long. And he's stubborn about getting it cut. The last time his father cut his hair, he waited until Feleke was asleep. I may try that.
That picture also reminds me how amazing my own children have been through all of this. Imagine if you were a kid and you were told, hey, a little African boy will be moving in with us, he will not speak any English, he won't understand the rules of the house, he will be taking one of the (scarce) bedrooms for himself, he will also be taking up much of mom and dad's time and energy, and he will be the center of attention pretty much all the time at least until people get used to him being around. Oh, and he's being treated for cancer so you really have to be nice to him and constantly cut him slack and can't just tell him to get over himself. How would that be? Our kids have handled it with incredible grace. They have been patient and generous. They have loved Feleke in exactly the ways that he needs to be loved. They haven't been perfect all the time, of course. Sometimes they get annoyed or lose their patience. And, it should be noted, their parents have had numerous moments of imperfection as well. But the kids have mostly been amazing. And they now treat Feleke like a brother, which is exactly what he needs.
From Feleke's perspective, there are some great things about living in Ann Arbor. Besides the absence of hyenas and leopards, he gets five cool new siblings, which is awesome; he gets to go to UM basketball games and be on a swim team and soccer team. He gets to spend some (though limited) time on the Wii and the DS and the TV. But in many other ways, life is hard. Of course he misses his family terribly. And he worries about them. His mother's health is not great, and he is concerned that it might get worse. He wishes she could get the benefit of the medical care he has had. He worries about his father too. Not about his health, so much, but about other dangers that exist in a rural community where ownership of a few cows can make you a target and where the police have no regular presence and therefore where daily law enforcement mostly takes the form of self help. Feleke also misses his many friends from Dafe Jema. One gets the feeling that life as a child in Dafe Jema, when things are good, is a blast. They get a lot of independent play time, and they have many adventures together. Here is a picture of the children from his school.
The little fellow on the far left, striped shirt with blue jacket, is Feleke's best friend back home. He once gave Feleke one of his family's new puppies so that Feleke could have a dog of his own, and, when the boy's parents asked what had happened to the puppy, he told them a hyena must have gotten it. Not sure how he explained the fact that Feleke had a new puppy that looked just like the one that had disappeared. Maybe I'll ask him that when we get to Dafe Jema.
I mentioned above that Feleke's parents want him to stay with us. How do I know this? Because they told us so on a video that Steven Weinberg made. Steven recorded Feleke's family and sent the videos to us. The videos from Bayush, Kabinesh, and Addisu are adorable. They are all smiles and giggles and enthusiasm. The message from the parents is more serious. After thanking us profusely, they make their position clear: we love Feleke and miss him very much, but we want you to keep him in America and let him go to school there, if you are willing to let him live with you.Here is one last picture of him next to our barn. I'll explain the "honey tree" title of the blog in a future post.
