It was quite a sight to encounter on this misty, quiet mountain. I’d brought my camera with me, planning to capture some views of the city from up here, but I was going to fill my memory card before we got to the trailhead.
I smiled at Elias as I snapped some photos. “These churches are something.”
He nodded. “You’ll see many more when you’re in the north,” he said, mentioning my solo trip to see some of the historical sites. Just another reminder that our time was running out. As I looked up at him, I couldn’t even imagine what it would be like to not see him again.
His eyes softened as if he could see into my thoughts. I could tell he was debating what to do, and in the end he squeezed my shoulder, his voice soft and warm when he finally spoke.
“There’s a lot more to see, konjo.”
Every time he called me that I still practically swooned. But I managed to hide it by snapping a few more pictures.
He ran a hand over my shoulder to get my attention, and his voice was a little amused when I looked up at him. “Let’s start walking. We’re not even four meters from the car, and you’ve taken a hundred photos.”
I smiled at his teasing and started walking. “Hey, it’s not my fault there are like, a million Insta moments happening right now.”
He just shook his head and smiled. I was looking forward to this day. Even though I’d been in the country almost two months, mostly I’d been in the south. I hadn’t seen much of Addis, and being here with Elias was perfect. He’d brought sandwiches, water, and packets of cookies so we could have a picnic after we got to the summit. I was feeling all of this a bit more than I should have, but I couldn’t help myself. He paid attention to everything.
On the very first trip to Awassa, I’d mentioned in passing I had a weakness for chocolate-covered digestive biscuits. Since then he made sure to always have some on hand. When I commented on it, he just brushed it off and said, “I pay attention to what you like.”
If and when it came to it, walking away from Elias was going to destroy me.
As we trekked up the mountain, we saw women carrying wood, which was a common sight all over Ethiopia. There was a large group of them and they each made their way down the mountain with massive piles of firewood on their backs, so big their torsos were almost perpendicular to the ground. I stopped to watch them as they hurried down the hill at an impressive clip, their eyes focused straight ahead.
“This group must have started late,” Elias said. “Usually the wood is carried much earlier in the day. They need it for cooking, and to boil water for tea and baths.” Elias stared after them too, then sighed. “Women’s lives can be harsh here. At times it feels like they literally and figuratively carry us all on their backs. Not that there isn’t progress—the economy is growing, and so many Ethiopians are coming back from overseas and starting businesses here—but there is still so much to do.”
I nodded. “It can feel overwhelming. In the States too, so many things are totally broken. I’ve been thinking a lot about it in the last couple of months. Like, why am I here, and not there? Why do I get to come here or any other country and come up with solutions to problems I sometimes don’t even understand? Meanwhile while my own country’s systemic oppression is literally destroying lives and communities.”
I blushed, embarrassed by my outburst. “I don’t think I’m making sense.”
He turned his head, considering my words. “I think you’re right. In the end, you need to do the work you’re passionate about. I don’t agree with this idea that in order to do meaningful work, or to be successful, you have to be miserable, sacrifice everything. That to figure out ways to do good, I have to martyr myself. Purpose is noble, but it can’t fill you up.”
It felt wrong to have this conversation without touching. I wanted to put my head on his chest, breathe him in while he spoke the words I needed so badly to hear.
“You have to do the work that feeds you, find the joy in it.”
I shuddered, feeling the truth of what he’d said in my bones. Before I could stop myself, I looked up at him and whispered, “I’m right here. You’ve found Joy.”
He brushed my shoulder and looked at me with an intensity that shook me, then quietly said, “You are, and I did.”
“You’re like some kind of mystic. How do you have so much more wisdom than me and we’re only a few years apart?”
He shook his head and bumped my shoulder again. “You’re a lot wiser than you think.”
We slowly made our way up the mountain until we reached the highest viewpoint and sat down to have our lunch. There were other families there and some young people, both Ethiopian and foreigners, were scattered around. We chatted with some of them and helped with photos when selfies would not do the view justice.
Once we sat down, Elias and I talked about how we were at the end of Ethiopian summer. Soon the rains would come, making everything muddy and wet for months.
When he had all our food out, we sat with our backs against a boulder, basking in the sun. From our spot we
