A sleeping place is anywhere you can find a spot
Two young boys light a fire of rubbish in the early morning
The pre-dawn air in Addis Ababa is cool and a full moon is setting in the west as in the east the sky slowly lightens. We set out at 11.30 local time (5.30am in standard time) to drive through the city before the street people have woken or been woken by the many police strolling through the streets. Everywhere, bundles of plastic and blankets cover sleeping bodies, which lie in rows on footpaths, on the road and in the centre of roundabouts and road dividers. Some sleep amongst piles of rubbish, some huddled together for warmth and protection and some without covering on the bare stones, alone.
We pass a pack of street dogs also curled together for warmth and in their animal innocence it seems obvious that they have a simpler, easier life than their human counterparts just metres away.
We take the same route we took the first morning we came to the streets, when the enormity and tragedy of what I was seeing made it impossible to get it out of my mind and yet impossible to write about or even to talk about. It’s earlier today than it was then and so there are even more bundles still wrapped on the footpath like so much rubbish left out for removal.
As on the first morning we once again we approach the bus station; once again there are immense queues and crowds of people either going to or coming from the country on the battered and overburdened buses that pull in and out in clouds of black smoke. As we approach, a group of women and children who have recently packed up their beds cross the road in front of us. Sometimes driving the streets in the day we see a few women who sit together in the same place, begging with their children crawling or running around their legs. If begging doesn’t suffice to feed the children I can only imagine what is needed to be able to live. Ermias confirms my thoughts.
Potential passengers and street people walk around the piles of rubbish in the streets, both avoiding where possible the many police also patrolling on foot. Donkeys thread their way through the throng, not all are laden at this early hour, but all are constantly goaded by their owners to keep them moving. Men walk by with huge bundles of cardboard carefully balanced on their heads and down a side street a flock of goats, or maybe fat-tailed sheep, are herded by a young boy.
All around the buses and taxis, street dwellers able and disabled, young and old, beg, or sell small items; we see one young man running alongside a bus, finalising a deal with a passenger for a newspaper. Around the bus station the constant blare of horns, music and the cries of people shreds the cool and morning air. The clouds of black smoke from the ageing vehicles stings our noses, as does the stench of the piles of rubbish on the footpaths. Addis in the early morning assails all the senses.
Other street boys begin to set up their shoe shine stands, getting ready to catch any early customers. Some of them notice the ferangi in the passing car and wave or smile, asking for their photo to be taken. Further down the street a group of boys play soccer in the road. I ask are they street boys? Ermias says maybe some of them, but others will be ordinary young men who have no other space in which to play. As we approach another street “boy”, older, sees me taking photos and, pulling his blankets around him, he begins to dance, signaling and beckoning me to take some shots while he performs. I get out of the car further down to take more photos, street people still sleep on the footpath under a wall decorated with art, the boys kicking the football around them. One long kick comes my way and to cheers and laughter I boot it back into the game. A few final shots and we are once again on our way, leaving behind the ironic image of the art work and the homeless, a tattered blanket wrapping a sleeping bundle at the foot of a painted road leading to home.
Home?
We come to an open space in front of an Orthodox Church. Many homeless and beggars gather at churches and mosques, hoping no doubt that the faithful fresh from their prayers may be more generous in spirit. A fire is burning on the bare dirt and huddled close to it are two young boys, one of whom looks to be about 11. Something about the pair really stabs at my heart and I ask Ermi to stop so that I can offer some money and also maybe get a photo. The youngest boy comes to the car while the other hides his head. He is cold, dirty, bare foot, and I can see where tears have tracked through the dust on his face. I ask can I take his picture and he agrees, somehow producing a smile that could light the most remote corner of anyone’s heart. This picture says so much, is full of so much meaning for me that it becomes my most treasured of African images.
The light is growing stronger and fewer sleeping forms line the footpaths and roads. Once again I am in emotional overload and we decide its time for breakfast and coffee. And just like the first morning it’s difficult to eat much and the conversation is subdued and desultory. But despite the challenging few hours I’ve just spent I know that I will always be grateful and never forget that I’ve seen this side of Addis, that I’ve been able to better understand just one of the facets of this complex city and this beguiling country.
Addis Ababa has street people estimated variously between 100,000 and 400,000 – I can’t seem to find a definitive figure. They are people of all ages and both genders, some as young as three, others obviously in their later years. The young and women are particularly open to abuse of all types. Many spend their days chewing chud, a mild narcotic that helps the days pass in a dream. Some make a subsistence living selling lottery tickets, tissues or other small items. Many young men work at shining shoes. Others simply beg.
A variety of circumstances see lives come to this desperate pass. Over 50% of Ethiopia’s population is aged between 15 and 24. Many young people are orphaned, often due to HIV/AIDS, sometimes they are forced out of home through second marriages and failed family relationships or the inability of other family members to care for them. Rural people are drawn to the city in hard times seeking work, even though unemployment is high, some say 60%.
The organisation with which I was associated in Addis, Youth Impact Ethiopia, runs a program for young men on the street, taking 12 at a time into residential care for 6 months and providing not only formal schooling but also concentrated lessons in integrity, work ethics, self-esteem and discipline. Once the program is complete places are found in vocational schools and support is continued until the men find work. The program, based on love, understanding, developing moral strength and self discipline, works miracles in the lives of these young people, something I have seen with my own eyes. The program is deep, not broad, but is proving that this approach has significant and permanent results for individuals. In future, if the ripple effect comes into play, it may also profoundly affect Ethiopian society.
Youth Impact can be contacted at:
ermi_zel@yahoo.com (Ermias) or
konij2002@yahoo.com (Konjit). Any assistance would make a significant difference.
Love
Lyndall
