To Dire Dawa and Harar

Hello all. I hope this finds you well.
Liz and I recently got home from a week-long trip to Dire Dawa and Harar, Ethiopia's main cities in the eastern part of the country (only a few hours from Djibouti). Dire Dawa serves as a market city for goods coming to and from Djibouti, and Harar (Islam's 4th city) is an ancient, walled-city steeped in history, as well as Islam's mode of penetrating the Horn of Africa.
Liz and I were asked (by Save the Children) to conduct an evaluation on how well community organizations and NGOs are providing services to Orphans and Vulnerable Children (OVCs). We were trying to set a baseline for what standards (i.e. child interacts with at least one adult daily) are being met, and it was an extremely difficult task. The instrument for measuring services was designed in Washington DC, and we, as the first implementers of the project, found that the instrument had serious flaws (not considering the Ethiopian culture, only having two ranks for the degree to which services were met – Yes or No, etc…). That being said, Liz and I were thankful to be a part of the evolving process of OVC care in Ethiopia, and were spoiled to see two tourist cities (especially Harar) without using vacation days. A few highlights of our trip…
We fed hyenas. Outside of the walled city of Harar, there is an old tradition (and now tourist-trap) to feed hyenas at nightfall. The locals have had a strong relationship with the animals for a few hundred years (calling them by name), which made them significantly less imposing – though I wouldn't have wanted to run into them in the wild. With the help of our driver, we ventured out one night after dark and had hyenas eat meat off a stick that we held.

Arthur Rimbauld, a 19th Century French poet, lived in Harar for a majority of his adult life, and his supposed house serves as an art museum today. The house was showing a French photography exhibit at the time that we visited, a step back into the urban, artsy culture that we have missed since coming to Ethiopia. The house had a beautiful third floor with a view over Harar and the nearby mountains, with one whole wall made of many-colored stain-glass tiles. Rimbauld's house was an oasis in a city of commotion - exploring the narrow alleys of the small walled city was like stepping into the set of an action movie. People bustling around, tailors busy sewing skirts (worn by both genders in eastern Ethiopia), animals and three-wheeled taxis moving wherever they wish, all combined with the maze of alleys, made the city an adventurous, yet overwhelming experience. On a deeper level, being in eastern Ethiopia forced me to confront my uneasiness with Islam. I acknowledge that Islam's foundations are not in radicalism, but as a citizen of a terror-targeted nation, I believe my uneasiness is rational. Though I studied Islam at UVA, my comfort and understanding of Islam has always been academic, and my friendships only with secular (or non-practicing) Muslims, so it was a first for me to be in a largely practicing Muslim neighborhood. I interviewed a homeless boy, Abdulakim, whose story was truly heart-breaking (I hope that phrase has not completely lost its meaning...). Abdulakim's family has all died, and he sleeps at the neighborhood mosque each night. During our conversation (while fighting back tears), I felt a greater connection to Muslims (a deeper bond in our shared humanity) than I have ever experienced. Chalk one up to fearing the unknown. The community group that serves OVCs has assigned a volunteer to check in on Abdulakim each day, a beautiful picture of how groups with limited resources are caring for materially (and often relationally) poor children.