Living Under a Bridge

I haven’t detailed what we did on Watt’s last night in Addis. Of course he made sure it would be an interesting one. He decided to pursue a conversation with the homeless people in our area. They sleep under the overpass where we get a taxi each morning. When darkness came we ventured out with Mastewal and Abraham to the streets. We live in a wealthy neighborhood (relatively speaking), but all of the compounds are protected by high walls blocking any light that could illuminate our path. Though our walk was covered in darkness the streets were still active with the people who have nowhere else to go.

As Watt and Mastewal spoke with a man that is a permanent fixture under the bridge I noticed a woman lying on some tarps watching us intently. I walked over to her and asked Abraham to translate. She was very sick, but inviting. She even moved so I could sit on the tarp with her as if I had entered her living room. Meanwhile, people stared at us wondering what these foreigners were doing. It was difficult for her to talk because of a cough, but as I inquired of her situation she told us that she had left her home when her husband died during the famine. When she said this I didn’t think it could be possible because the famine she was referring to was over twenty years ago. Twenty years ago this woman lost her husband and her livelihood, probably before I was even born, and brought her two kids to make her home under a bridge. She has been living there ever since. The comparison between her life and mine over the course of 25 years is appalling. I found it incomprehensible that a person could live this way for so long…by choice. At the time her son was two years old. Now he is 25 and very sick. He had a job, but became too sick to work. She pointed to a box made of corrugated tin and said he was sleeping inside. Her daughter was working as a housekeeper, but it seems has lost that job too. I tried to process how she could have allowed life to continue down such a hopeless path. Even as I looked at her I could tell she had strength in her eyes, obviously it had gotten her this far. Why didn’t she use it to provide a better life for her family? Surely twenty years ago she would have been even more capable of doing so.

Imagine, living your life under a bridge. For most in the West it is something we can’t even wrap our mind around. The situation is not feasible with all of the protective structures set up by our society. But here in Addis the nightmare is a reality to nearly 90,000 human beings. Imagine. Life day in and day out on a cold, wet, dirty street. People pass by you going to work, a family, a destination of their choice because they can afford to. The matter of a few hundred dollars differentiates between a life on the streets and a life in a shelter. But is that the only difference? Or is it a matter of will? I’ve struggled over that question as I ask God how I should treat the countless beggars on the street. He would expect me to love them, but what does love look like in a situation like this?

I’ve dealt with feelings of pity and anger toward mothers that hold babies in their arms and beg in the streets. They are exploiting their children and perpetuating the vicious cycle of poverty by raising their kids in the street. But is it their choice? Obviously, it’s impossible for me to know their situations so I try not to judge, but as Habtamu has expressed with much passion there are other options. If a woman cannot provide for her child there are orphanages. Every time I am driving with Habtamu on Bole Road to and from the airport we get hounded by children begging in the streets. It’s particularly bad at night. They pick Bole Road because that is the “rich” area of town and more people are in cars rather than mini buses. At the intersections they come and put their hands in the window begging for money or asking you to purchase some tissues or gum for less than 10 cents. Haptamu explained that he gets angry because many of the kids are forced to work by their parents. Instead of going to school they are working towards a life of poverty. It is my heartfelt desire to see these children cross the bridge of opportunity instead of living under it…to see their future holding more hope than a birr dropped by a stranger. Hopefully, my time here will enable me to make that a reality for some of these street kids. No one deserves this kind of life whether they bring it upon themselves or not.