Praying for milk

As Feyisa and I drive in the Land Cruiser (me driving, Feyisa shot gun) through chaotic Nekempt toward the East Wollega Health Bureau, I express my doubt that it's going to be a successful trip. Feyisa listens patiently, nodding his head.

He knows better than to be optimistic.

I was here just last Thursday, with the same mission: to pick up free UNICEF milk for our malnourished kids. It was a disaster--a dead end. After waiting for nearly an hour on creaky chairs in an office, we were told that the Pharmacy Guy with the only key to the milk stock room was sick, and wouldn't be coming in for the day.

Since he possessed the only key, I had jumped into the Land Cruiser with Ashebir the driver and Karessa the pharmacist and driven to his house to get it.

He wasn't there. "He's at the market today," his wife told us.

So we called this sneaky Pharmacist Guy. He said, "I won't be coming into work today, I'm sick. But I won't give you any milk powder, anyway. We don't distribute to the Gimbie area."

But I had letters from UNICEF. I had stamps and phone contacts, and express directions to pick up milk at that specific location.

We tried to talk to the boss, the manager of the Bureau. "The managers are out today," the round-faced secretary told us. "Come back tomorrow."

That was a week ago. I have since collected more papers, signatures, and stamps, talked with the directors of Ethiopia's UNICEF Feeding Program in Addis Ababa, and received more instructions. But I'm still dubious that we'll leave the Bureau today with milk.

As we pull up to the gate I tell Feyisa that I'm going to pray. We stop the car and we pray. It encourages us, if nothing else. God knows our kids need that fortified therapeutic milk.

This time the round-faced secretary tells us that Pharmacy Guy is in the WHO (World Health Organization) stock room. Apparently they are counting vaccinations. A goose chase around the compound finally leads us to a small warehouse-sort of building. The roof is rusted and cracked open in several places, floods of chilly morning sunlight pour in.

Pharmacy Guy shakes my hand.

The answer is yes. Yes, we have milk (we find it stacked to the ceiling in a small, dusty room, some of the boxes moulding and some chewed up by rats, none of it moved or touched in months and months). Yes, you can have as much as you want (we pack 60 boxes of 30 bags each into the Land Cruiser).

I am so happy. I don't know why it was so hard last week, and somehow so easy this time around.

I guess right now it doesn't matter. Feyisa and I smile all the way up and down the hallway, carrying armloads of boxes of milk powder.