Poor in wealth but rich in love & being Black in Peace Corps

“Listen, my dear brothers: Has not God chosen those who are poor in the eyes of the world to be rich in faith and to inherit the kingdom he promised those who love him?  - James 2:5



 a little girl stood and just asking for money as I walked past. I gave her a smile and a prayer. I hope it was enough.

   Sometimes I’ll be reading the word of God and verses that I never noticed before, later stand out to me. Its funny how your circumstances in life determine what your heart and ears are willing and ready to hear. Stumbling across James 2:5 this morning made me immediately think of my host family, and not just them, but every God fearing person I’ve met here in Africa, who in the eyes of the world are seen as poor. 

Sometimes I wonder why these people were chosen to be born on this side of the world, and I, on the other side. Was it just the luck of the draw? Why me and not them? I wonder why my family and friends have so much, and others so little. I have been born into such luxury, while so many others have been born into such hopelessness.The roles could have been so easily reversed.



But then I run across a verse like James 2:5, and I wonder who has really been born into hopelessness.

My family here, and those far worse off than them, are so rich in faith. Strong, proud, God fearing people, with the most beautiful hearts. They give their all, they give their last, they keep giving, although many would say they don’t have anything left to give. They carry a child on their backs, Gods words on their lips, and all the worlds sorrow on their shoulders, and they still smile, they still laugh. Poor in wealth, but rich in love, rich in faith, family and life.

 Part of me wonders if its easier to believe in God when he’s all you have left. Logically I would think, yes it is, but there are so many who, when at their lowest, cry out, wonder why and lose all hope.




I have been so loved, so extremely wealthy, and educated and I know I am called to use my blessings to bless others.

And although I keep telling myself that I am here to help, that I am here to serve and give. I know in my heart of hearts that I have much more to learn from this country and these people than I can ever give back.


*        *        *        *        *        *        *         *        *        *        *        *      *     *          *          * 

Word is out that Im not Habesha (Ethiopian)

Whenever I walk the streets of Butajira by myself, I get a lot of stares and looks from the townspeople. In a town of 40,000 people, it might be noticeable if a new face shows up in your little neighborhood. So I didn't mind the stares and looks, from children and adults alike. I even had 1 woman and 2 kids, on separate occasions, approach me speaking full blown Amharic, while I just stood there smiling and nodding.

It wasn't until today that I realized why they probably approached me.

 I was walking home, as I do everyday. When 5 neighborhood kids started running toward me. I stood there confused and wondered what was about to happen. When they all got within a few feet of me and began yelling out “Hello” “Hi” “Ferenji” “Hello” “America!” in what appeared to be the only English words they knew.



“Oh… Hi” I said, feeling defeated. The ruse was up. How do they all know that Im not Ethiopian anymore?! I thought to myself, and then it hit me. OH MY GOODNESS! what if the people that approached me before were testing me! And afterwards told everyone I don’t speak the language, and couldn't be Ethiopian.

Wait… maybe there is still a chance… Using my best Amharic I said, “What’s your name?” to one of the girls in the group.

“I am called Kidist” the little girl replied.

“How are you Kidist” I asked, still using my best Amharic.

“Good…” and then she spit out some rapid fire Amharic that I could not catch, but I was determined to not give up so easily…


“In - De - Gah - Na?” (Again, or repeat) I asked, when she just laughed and shook her head as if to say “Mere non-habesha mortal, just stop trying”

“Buh bye” Kidist added, before she ran off with her group.

*        *        *        *        *        *        *    *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *      

Ever since the townspeople figured out that Im not Ethiopian, I have been getting harassed. Its nothing really horrible or bad, but it is a little annoying. I will be walking to class by myself, and grown men will yell out to me:

“America!”
“Ameriiiiicaaaaaa!”

trying to get my attention. Two kids have approached me asking for money in English.


“Give me money!” They say
“You, give MEEEE Money!!” I reply.

I was in the suk (store) once, buying a few things. When I noticed this old man following me around the store, he was maybe in his late 60’s, so I figured I could take him if I had too, but just to play it safe, I promptly left that store, and walked into another one a few feet away. Lo and behold, the old man pops up in that store too!

Feeling a little uneasy now, I began to make a plan… “Ok, other PCV’s should be nearby, class just ended and a lot of people like to go to the restaurant upstairs for wifi, so if I walk quick enough…” But as I was thinking to myself I heard my old man stalker and the store clerk talking.

old man: “ blah blah blah” (Amharic words I did not understand)
“No, she's American” the store clerk replied in English.

What the heck!  Why is the old man asking about me?! AND HOW does this random store clerk know I’m American!!!

Its absolutely ridiculous how fast news spreads in this town, and its even more ridiculous that me being American, can be considered “News”. I still don't have it half as bad as the white female volunteers have it though. At least I have the potential to blend in, whereas they stick out like sore thumbs. One of the girls here felt the need to run from a few Ethiopian men who she says were following her, another was forcefully grabbed by a guy, as he repeatedly demanded that she buy the motorcycle he had with him. She instead resorted to hitting and violently elbowing him off of her. Another volunteer serving in Mozambique, has little kids crying when they see her, because they think she is a “white devil” and they have never seen a white person before. (check out her story HERE, its absolutely hilarious and there are photos!)

If the worst I will get, is a few random guys yelling, “America” out at me, then I will take it.

In all honesty, before signing up for the Peace Corps I was worried about what my experience would be like as an African American Volunteer.

Would my community respect me? Or will they be disappointed that they didn't get a “real American?” Will they value my opinion and advice, or will they think I have nothing to offer them because I am black, just like they are.

I went into Ethiopia, with these little fears and worries, just waiting to see what would happen, but a 3rd year black PCV, helped ease my mind.

“As a black volunteer, you may not get all the Ferengi (foreigner) perks, that the other volunteers get. People may not let you skip lines in the grocery store or bank, kids may not get excited to see you, and sometimes, yes, people will not respect your opinion as much, or think you can really offer change. But you will get the advantage of integrating into your communities faster. You will form friendships quicker than other volunteers and the friendships you do form, will be much deeper. Your community members will share more of their lives with you and through these friendships and relationships you can gain trust and respect. Black volunteers can do just as much as any other type of volunteer, and many times, they do even more.”

Listening to this experienced volunteer share her stories and words of wisdom was very beneficial for me. I was getting so caught up on the negatives that I did not think of the positives. I wanted to serve in Africa particularly, because I wanted to work, live with, and help other black people.

 I want the students that I teach and the community that I work with, to see themselves in me, and I in them. I thought the culture would be richer in Africa, the food - better, and I loved the idea of being surrounded by people who looked just like me.

I never once thought that I’d “feel at home” here, or that I would seamlessly fit in. In fact, being in Africa, has made me realize exactly how “American” I really am. But for some unexplained reason, there is a connection. There is something there, just a comfort perhaps and understanding that although, I am America, I am also Africa.



*        *        *        *        *        *        *    *        *        *        *        *        *        *    *        *        *