Finding My Mother - Ethan "Esubalew" Johnston

This is a post from Esubalew himself. Thanks for tuning in, and I hope you enjoy this post.

FINDING MY MOTHER…

Where do I begin? I can begin with the thank yous to everyone that has helped me along my path in life thus far, but I will instead, leave those to the end.

The biggest question that initially seems to pop up from everyone who hears my story is “how did you find your family?” Because that is such a huge piece of this puzzle and story, I will start there.

In 1997, when I left Ethiopia to come to the US to live with my adoptive family in Missouri, also traveling with me were several other children who had been living with me in the foster home, also arriving to the US to their families. 2 of those children were my friends, Wubit, who was close to my age, and Netsanet, who was much younger. Over the years, I had some phone contact with them and in the spring of 2008, I made a visit to their home in Oregon. It was a good time and so I returned in the summer to visit again. During my time there, I had many conversations with their mom, Karla, who asked me about “my story” due to the fact that she had only heard it from others. Afterwards, she asked me many questions relating to my birth mom, the location that I had lived, etc., as well as about my desire to reunite with them in the future.

Of course, I had always had a fantasy that in the future I would see my family again. However, due to the expense of traveling and not having any clear direction as to where to go, it was still a fantasy to me and one that seemed not to be possible to live until far into the future. Unknown to me, Karla had taken the bits and pieces of my story and used her connections in Ethiopia to set out on the task of locating my mother. It was her friend, Zewditu, that was put to work to see what she could discover. Zewditu initially made contact with the police department in Mota. Mota was Karla’s “key” as to where to start the digging, as I shared with Karla that once I was taken from my family in my village of Inesa, I recalled from my childish memory that Mota was the name of the first town that I arrived in with my captors to spend our first night. Once Zewditu made contact with police officials in Mota, they suggested that she contact the authorities in Mertola Mariam, the town further north and closest to the village of Inesa. The police inspector in Mertola Mariam, had the details of the “missing boy” and the knowledge of where the village of Inesa was. With the assistance of “Inspector Moges”, Zewditu traveled to meet my mother. “Networking” in Ethiopia is amazingly, although “old-fashioned”, more superior to that here and my mother quickly heard the good news that I was alive. Being confused with the communication about why she was needing to leave her village to travel to meet Zewditu and the police inspector, my mother somehow thought that I was coming as well, but even that disappointment did not overshadow her joy of knowing for certain that I was alive.

Karla sent Zewditu on a 2nd trip a couple of months later, primarily for the task of taking the photos that she would share with me. This time, Zewditu traveled with Inspector Moges all the way to my village of Inesa, having to walk several miles once the road could no longer be traveled… once again spending time in celebration with my mother.

While all of this was going on behind my back, without my knowledge, I was busily attending to my studies at the University of Colorado in Boulder. The following October, Karla shared that she was planning to travel with a friend to Denver and during her stay, she wanted to spend some time with me because she had a special gift to bring to me. Needless to say, my curiosity was unending and annoying but she remained tight lipped until her arrival. Once the time came that she was ready to present me with my gift, she seemed so incredibly nervous and her nervousness made me nervous as well. She told me that her gift was in the envelope that she handed me. When I opened it, she shared that they were pictures of my mother. Of course, I was assuming that she was speaking of my Missouri mother and therefore seemed perplexed as to why. As she went on, she said that they were photos of my birth mother. I can’t really say that I was speechless, but instead, full of questions and disbelief. “What do you mean?” “How can this be?” “Where did you get these?” “How did you do this?” “Is this really her?” … and so on. She quickly shared with me what she had been doing behind my back and that the photos are real and it really is my mother. I felt like I was floating in another world. With hesitation, she then shared with me that my sister had died. I know how sad she was for me because every story that I had ever shared about my life in my village of Inesa was about the close friendship that I had with my younger sister. I was so very sad to know that she was no longer living, having died from TB of the bone. According to the story from Zewditu, my mother said that she had lost a total of 7 children to death. As well, after my arrival, she gave birth to the only child she now has living, which would be my half-brother, Tomtim. His photo was included as well.

The next several days I continued to live in a state of shock and disbelief, as if I was in a dream.

Of course, knowing that my mother was still living was an enormous relief. I had always wondered, due to the fact that living in a world of such poverty is so difficult, that she could easily no longer be alive. So, my fantasy of seeing her in the future suddenly became closer.

Karla shared that she and her friend and non-profit business partner, Jacque would be traveling to Ethiopia the following summer and she insisted that I make it a plan to travel with them so that she could escort me to reunite with my mother. Of course, this seemed impossible due to the expense of doing so, but she assured me that it would happen. And so it did. Through some creative fundraising, speaking engagements and frugal saving of my own, I was an official travel partner on their journey to Ethiopia.

THE PLANNING…

Nervousness and excitement filled my days between October and our departure date in June. During the winter, I was approached by Zach, who was the son of my great friend Sharon. He asked me if I would be willing to have him travel along with us to Ethiopia to film my journey, with the eventual plan of creating a documentary that would tell my life story and reunion with my mother. Knowing that it is a story that so many were interested in, I humbly agreed. He traveled from LA to see meet me and he began filming right away through personal interviews and my day to day activities.

Through conversations with Zach, it was decided that if any funds were to be profited from his film, they would be put towards assisting the blind in Ethiopia. I had recently joined on as a volunteer with the non-profit organization Door of Hope Ethiopian Ministries (in Denver), which assists the blind through a boarding school in Debre Markos. As well, I worked to secure as many donations as I could that would assist their school, with a plan to donate them on my visit.

TAKING OFF…

I traveled to Portland, OR to meet up with my travel buddies, Karla and Jacque, along with Karla’s 2 daughters, Hana and Netsanet. Our bags were stuffed to the max, as both Karla and Jacque brought oodles and oodles of donations for their program in Gondar. I said goodbye to my dad who escorted me and we began our trip. Once we arrived in DC we met up with Zach who was just as excited as the 5 of us.

THE TRAVEL…

I was definitely feeling tense at this point. The reality hadn’t yet kicked in. I was thinking about the Lakers who were playing and at the same time I tried to focus on what I had in front of me, but it just did not seem quite real. The plane ride was uncomfortable and long with a small break in Rome. From there, the journey continued and I remained tense.

ARRIVAL…

Once we arrived in Addis Ababa (Ethiopia’s capital city), the reality of what life in Ethiopia is like came quickly. There was no power at the airport. The process for getting our visa entailed hours in a line while everything was done by hand. All in all, a reminder of the pace of life and the lack of conveniences that Ethiopia has. While in the visa line, I was reprimanded by an Ethiopian man who struggled with the fact that I could no longer speak my native language of Amharic… a topic that seems to constantly arise when I meet new Ethiopians… none of them understanding the difficulties of retaining a language when you leave your country and no longer have any contact with anyone who speaks it.

Zach, unfortunately had his camera confiscated at customs upon arrival, yet the rest of our belongings all seemed to arrive intact with us. I was happily greeted at the arrival gate by the unending kisses of Mantegbosh. Mantegbosh was the woman who was in charge of the foster home that I had lived in prior to leaving to the US. I remembered her like it was yesterday… coming to the home each day to bring us cake… and kisses. As well, Hana’s many family members were there to greet her after 4 years.

I AM HOME…

My travel companions shared with me all of the many sights from beyond their windows as we traveled the busy streets to eventually arrive at a house nearly a 1 hr drive away, a “suburb” of Addis, a newly constructed, small modest home owned by an uncle to Hana. But, beyond their verbal sharing, I could “see” Ethiopia. I could smell the many smells of food and garbage. I could hear the many sounds of honking horns, traffic, traffic and more traffic, people’s chatter in every direction… all bringing back to me what I remembered from when I was there so long ago. As well, I was often with frustration at my fellow passengers as their narration would cease and I would only hear their oohs and aahs, leaving me with wonder as to what I was missing.

Although everything around me reminded me of when I was there before, I tried so very hard to hold my emotions inside. Having heard the sounds of the people on the streets made the memories of me begging on the streets seem less far away… more vivid in my head, yet I continued to try to not let them feel real. At the house, Zach began filming while everyone interrogated Zewditu about her visit to see my mother. And, through her sharing, I eventually fell apart. Knowing that she had spent time with my mother and heard her voice and touched her hand simply made it all seem real. My memories of her flooded my mind and I could recall who she was like it was only yesterday. My emotions were tears of loss, tears of missing her, tears of anger, tears for my sister, tears of everything that we missed, tears of her pain, her suffering, her unknowns. I wasn’t one to cry and I always thought that my eyes no longer had tears, yet I was filled with emotions that had been stored for far too long… and they needed to escape. And, the reality that my mother was alive and I would soon see her overwhelmed me completely.

COMING BACK…

Day 2 in Addis focused on both retrieving Zach’s camera (a rigorous success!) and making a visit to the blind school in Addis. After my rescue from my captors in Addis, I was enrolled in the blind school where I was taught Braille. This blind school is a boarding school for a few hundred blind students. My arrival there was one of great surprise, as many people, all of which were blind, after just hearing my name, recalled my time there and greeted me with great excitement. We toured the facility and Zach did a lot of filming with those that remembered me. All in all, another opportunity for me to recall some of my life in Ethiopia. Although I didn’t learn the circumstances of how it all came about, the staff there shared with me that the men who had taken me from Inesa were eventually prosecuted for their crime, serving a jail sentence of 4 years.

PIT STOPS…

We traveled by plane to Gondar… Karla, Jacque, Zach, Mantegbosh and myself. Karla and Jacque’s non-profit office was our first pit stop while we finalized arrangements with a driver (Derege) and translator (Biniyam) who would accompany us to my village. I still question whether the upset stomach and vomiting I had throughout the day was something that I ate… or the nerves taking over my body. After Karla and Jacque spent a quick day with their staff we departed Gondar in the morning. Our day took us as far as Bahir Dar, where we had dinner with the Gondar mayor and spent a lavish night in a newly constructed “top of the world” resort, overlooking Lake Tana, compliments of the mayor’s friend. There was nothing more spectacular than walking out my door to the sunrise of Lake Tana on the horizon, wondering what lay on the horizon for the rest of my journey. Mantegbosh departed our group back to Addis that morning and we set on the road towards Inesa.

GRAVEL, HILLS, FARM LAND…

The sound of chatter and traffic soon disappeared once we left town and it was only the sound of hitting one pot hole after another that was heard. The road was gravel and with little to no other vehicles and my fellow travelers shared the view with me as we traveled into the rural countryside of Ethiopia. The rains had not yet come for the season, therefore it was dry. But nonetheless, the beauty shared created a vision of peace in my head… farmers walking behind their oxen and single row plow, women along the roadside carrying the day’s water, the child shepherds tending their goats and waving with excitement to the few cars that passed by.

As time and the road traveled on, my heart seemed to beat faster. It was as if I was in a dream and I was being chased by a Lion. I felt the anticipation of hearing the voice that I may recognize.

Eventually the road became a bit more treacherous and we were traveling on a one-way, constantly curving road, steeply uphill. From the sounds of things, the view was spectacular. Between sleeping and chatting, the hours passed by quickly. We arrived in the city of Mota with the sound of busy-ness all around us. After about 5 hours on the road, we were thankful for the quick pit stop for water and a potty break. Although we would have liked that it was a more leisurely rest stop, it was imperative to arrive in Inesa before sunset so that the light would be sufficient for filming. 2 more hours on the road, all peaceful countryside brought us to the small town of Mertule Mariam. Zewditu, who had traveled there by bus, and Inspector Moges were there to greet us and accompany us the remaining distance to Inesa. We quickly wandered the small town’s marketplace to purchase some additional gifts to bring to my family… coffee, sugar, fruit, blankets… and were then off again.

The road turned from gravel to dirt and thankfully dry dirt due to the delay in the rains. What was a dirt road then turned into just dirt as we traveled across farm field after farm field, all recently harvested.

The reality of getting closer came suddenly as our car stopped along our path for a woman carrying water who seemed interested in knowing who we were. She quickly discovered that it was me, shared with us that she was my relative from Inesa, and with screams and cries, she showered me with hugs and kisses, said she would see me tomorrow in the village and continued down the road. My first touch of “my people”. It felt good. It felt real.

Not much further, our car could no longer travel the road untraveled and we walked. Within a short time, we were surrounded by the village children who were all with smiles to escort us the remaining distance. It wasn’t until then that it became apparent, to my surprise, that the news of my “day of coming” had arrived to the village before me and they were all there to witness my homecoming with celebration. Up on the hillside, I could hear the cries of celebration… the chanting, the cries of joy, the horn blaring. All sounds of excitement, coming closer to eventually surround me on the path. I was greeted with hugs and kisses, first cousins, then others. I felt lost as if I was tumbling… like a football that was in a fumble and eventually recovered by the one who hits on it with the most force. It was my mother. Although she was small, she was strong. My cousin’s voice shouting “it’s your mother, it’s your mother!” confirmed my suspicion. She was crying and so was I. But, I know that she shared my emotions as being tears of joy. I could hear the many sobs, which I eventually know belong to my aunt whose excitement and surprise was uncontained. The horn continues to blare as the group surrounding me walks me along the path, a parade like no other, up the short hill, along the curving dirt path to “my home”.

I AM HOME…

The frustration of not speaking Amharic was huge. I had so much to say to those who loved me, to share with everyone what they meant to me and my longing for them. As part of the Ethiopian culture, I was showered with kisses. Endless kisses. One greeter after another, most of which were either a relative or a village friend to my mother, all beyond amazed to see that I was alive. My mother became the celebrity as everyone celebrated “her joy”. It truly became evident how much happiness everyone had for what had just happened for her… the miracle of all miracles... her lost son had came back.

WE CELEBRATE…

The celebration of dance and music (in Inesa… known as singing) began. The outside dirt yard of my aunt’s house sported a new canvas tent to shelter us from the unknown weather and it became our “home” for eating, drinking, dancing, new friendships, reunions, conversation and interrogations about my life with the numerous friends and family members that all wanted to celebrate my mother’s joy. The guests continued to come and come and I received the many kisses. Although I was on display for all to witness, the true “star” of the celebration was my mother. The excitement that everyone had for her was beyond apparent. The party spirit continued late into the night but eventually we found sleep. We brought along 2 small tents, one to sleep Zach and I and another that slept Karla, Jacque and Zewditu. Biniyam and Dereje were hosted to outdoor beds by my relatives. Thank goodness for the purchase of the blankets!

It became apparent that many of the villagers also spent the night when I crawled out of my tent during the night to go to the bathroom and the hard, dirt ground surrounding our tents appeared to be the beds to many bodies, all with their heads covered in cloths, like dead bodies… all stiff in the cold of the night. Once again, the delay in rain was convenient. The next few days seemed to revolve around one meal after another. One relative after another hosted my friends and I in their home to feast. I was asked to fund the purchase of a goat so that we could continue to feast for the remaining days. My cousin arrived with a fat goat later that day to slaughter for the crowd.

Some of the highlights of just being there with my family included playing soccer with the many village kids, visiting with my favorite cousin, Ingram – who was near my age and one of the only ones to speak any English and just enjoying the moment with “my people”.

With the translator and my friend, Karla there, Zach filmed an important conversation between myself and my mother. I felt it important to ask my mother if there was anything that I could help her with and asked her to “think big”, she replied that, more than anything she would love to have a house in the area closer to school for her son, Tomtim. In Inesa, the children are forced to live away from home and travel back on the weekends in order to attend the higher grades yet she wanted to be with him. With this knowledge, I shared with my mother that I would provide her with enough money to secure herself a house where she wanted to live. Needless to say, she was elated. I had given her a HUGE gift.

Although visiting Inesa was a time of celebration, it was difficult to hold in my feelings of the loss of my sister. I felt an enormous emptiness, as if something was missing… and it was her. Nobody else can truly feel the sadness that enveloped me when I was forced to imagine the suffering that she lived while she died. Nobody else can feel that the way that I did when I was the one with the vivid memories of our childhood in play, having fun in the village as well as my regret for being the big brother that often used my strength against her. My memories of her will never die as she did. They will always be the largest piece of what my childhood was.

Although it was nice to meet my mother’s son, he did, in no way, feel like a sibling to me. For now, we are still strangers and at this time, I am doubtful that I will ever have the attachment to him that I shared with my sister. I am happy for my mother… that she has Tomtim there in Inesa to care for, someone to live her life for and someone there who can care for her as she ages. My mother is blessed to have him as well as her other extended family in Inesa, all of which care for one another in need.

Karla and Jacque and Zewditu left after 3 days and the rest of us stayed on for a few more. The time was great. The celebrating continued. The relationships that I created were fabulous. When it was my time to leave, my mother and cousin Ingram traveled as far as Mota with us so that we could make the arrangements to deposit the money into an account for my mother. Long story short, due to the fact that she had to secure identification first, that process happened much later. There, I purchased my mother fabric for a dress and shoes. For my cousin, shoes and water jugs. Saying goodbye was beyond difficult. I felt forced to hold back my tears so that I did not upset them. I had to focus on saying a happy goodbye and save my tears for when I got into the car and they could no longer see me.

The remainder of my trip was fairly uneventful in comparison. Knowing what I know now, I could have made a plan to stay on longer, but part of that was due to the various travel plans of others and not knowing beforehand what to expect from my time in Inesa. Needless to say, I am looking forward to my next visit where I will stay much longer.

Prior to our next destination of Debre Markos, Zach got sick and we threw in a quick hospital visit into the itinerary. Eventually we arrived at the blind school in Debre Markos, toured the facilty and passed on to them the donations we brought along. We then traveled from there to Gondar to meet up with Karla and Jacque. From there, Jacque departed to home and Karla and I made a quick trip by plane to see the famed city of Lalibela then back to Addis for the remainder of our stay. I stayed in Addis at Mantegbosh’s foster home. Karla took off to visit some of her daughters relatives and I spent my days with the foster home staff who would become my great friends… Hana, Emebet, Alem, Alula. We spent endless hours listening to music and trying my best to learn from their Amharic teaching.

Addis is just a crowded, noisy, congested, spread out city. Nothing like the beauty of the countryside.

At the end, I was ready to leave but as soon as it became reality, of course, I missed being there. Being home was difficult because my focus was on my family in Ethiopia. My hours awake were completely centered and obsessed with what was going on back at home in Inesa. What was my mother doing? How was she? Did she have enough? Was she working too hard? I became depressed. The reality of what her life is like on a daily basis, with the need to work so hard just to get water, eat and survive made me think about myself and my life and how easy that I have it. I felt guilt. I felt sad. I missed her. I wanted to be with her to help her… to make her life easier. I shed many tears.

Leaving Ethiopia to arrive in the US, for the second time, I thought a lot about the huge difference this time was in comparison to the first time. The first time, I left behind a mystery as to what happened to my family. I left behind a culture, a language. I left behind my struggles there, only to have new ones while I adapted to a new life and family in the US. This time, although I left my family, I am blessed with the knowledge of their well-being. And more than anything, I have the ability to communicate with them. Through the assistance of Inspector Moges, I can call and check in with my mother and family. As my life continues, my thanks to him does as well, as he has graciously taken on the task of being my link to my mother’ from his assistance with phone calls, his trusting guidance to her with her funds, and the overall concern for her well-being on my behalf. Through his friendship, he has become a 2nd father to me and we will be forever connected. Through his help, I can live my days easier in knowing how everyone is. I can now feel like we are still a family.

My thanks for so many others who helped to make this all happen are huge. If it weren’t for Karla, I know that I would still be wondering and waiting for the answers to what happened to my family. I have thanks to Zewditu for doing the research, then the trips to Insesa as a favor to Karla. I thank Inspector Moges for his assistance, his friendship and his protection of us all on the journey (the man carries a big gun!) I thank Zach for getting on film the many moments that I never want to forget. As life continues, so does my unending thanks. I thank everyone who helped to fund this unforgettable journey.

And, long before my journey, while I struggled with my transition of life in America, my thanks to those who played a part in my fabulous life are nearly endless. My many friends, teachers, family members and such will never fully understand the value they were to me throughout my journey. From Boulder to Denver, Misourri to Oregon, and Addis to Inesa, so many people have played a part in my life story, from the beginning to now.

From here forward, life is good.

"ESUBALEW" ETHAN JOHNSTON