Leaving Mota

The hardest thing about leaving Motta is realizing that I can leave and Yamatan, Moges, even dr. Yllical and Simagnew cannot. A month of sponge baths has not made me smell any better and I am ready for a shower. We have running water four mornings a week. The hot water stream is anemic and a shower is not really possible. Simagnew, the midwife in charge, who is always available, never has running water. Compared to Yamatan’s , Moges’, dr. Mirawi’s , or Simagnew ‘s digs our facilities are luxurious. Yet I feel like I have been slumming it.
The hardest thing about leaving is having Tadele tell me about wanting to become a gynecologist and how he hopes one of the doctors will pay for his schooling. It is having Moges sit at the table with us and telling us he was a farmer but he discovered he was a good student. Now, he wants to finish high school, sit for his entrance exams and go to medical school. He is 23 years old. Until he gets to Medical School he needs money to live off. The hardest thing about leaving is having Yamatan tell me about his dream to become a road engineer. He didn’t pass his 10th grade exams. He would have to pay to go to a private school rather than a publicly funded school, which only accept the students that pass the 10th and 12th grade exams. He is the shoeshine boy at the hospital. He shines your shoes for 3 Birr, about 25 US cents.
The hardest thing is having everyone ask me for things. “Can I have that pot when you leave?” “Can I have a ride to the big city with you?” Can I have Misoprostol tablets?” The thing that is so hard about it is that I am exhausted and drained after a month of 24/7 call and working under very primitive conditions and I just want to scream: “No, No, No, I have had enough, I have given enough. I volunteered my time. I lost income while I was here because I had to pay some one to cover me. I have had diarrhea, I stink and I am covered by mosquito bites. I have given so much of me. I have nothing left!”
But, that isn’t true. I have so, so much more than every one here. I have a house with electricity and running water. I have a car. I have control over where I work and how much I work. I have enough money to take a month off to come to Ethiopia. I have my health and if something happens I can be seen and operated on in a hospital with a choice of surgeons, with a blood bank, with clean sheets, with every choice of suture, every choice of antibiotic, with Operating Room lights, with running water and so much more than Motta Hospital has, so much more. I have so much more, so much more to give.
I am just so overwhelmed by the need here that I can feel myself shut down. I can’t, I can’t possibly fullfill all these needs.

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