Bahir Dar, Ethiopia . . .Leyla’s Birthplace and Home to School Yejatit (February) 23 and the first "Leyla Library" through Ethiopia Reads

Bahir Dar, Ethiopia is just a short plane ride from the capital city of Addis Ababa. But it is a world away in many other respects. We were excited to visit Leyla’s birthplace and the site of our first "Leyla Library" through Ethiopia Reads housed in a school named “Yejatit (February) 23” which is V-day,"Victory of Adwa," for Africa (the actual celebration day March 2). Bahir Dar is a small city nestled at the foot of Lake Tana – the third largest lake in Africa. There is abundant and varied bird species flourishing by the water. The foliage is tropical and beautifully green wherever you look unlike the arid, mountainous climate of Addis.

We arrived early in the morning. And as seemed the norm, there was some confusion over the plan. We thought we were visiting our library at 9 a.m. but our guide said noon. Michael called our Tesfa (which fittingly means "hope" in Amharic) representative and confirmed the original time was correct. We stopped briefly at our hotel to freshen up and then headed to the school. I felt butterflies of anticipation dancing in my middle.

As we entered the gate into an open courtyard, we were greeted with clapping and cheering by a welcoming procession of kids and adults holding bouquets of freshly picked flowers. We were treated as visiting dignitaries. Michael was the most comfortable with this attention, shaking hands with each person looking them straight in the eye as he greeted them. Dimitri remarked that he wished he could be more like that too. We were brought into a small room with a long narrow table. Only the adults joined us. There was a solemnity to the occasion even as Leyla, obvious to it, flitted and skipped around the table, presenting an incongruous contrast.

We presented the plaque dedicating the library to our daughter and exchanged pleasantries for a bit. Then the head mistress pointed to one gentleman and said he was to give a speech. His voice was soft but resonated as he spoke from his notes but obviously also from his heart. He spoke of the children and the opportunity the library within this school represented. After he finished, each of the adults seated around the table added their own words of gratitude and stressed the importance of the access to books and an education to provide hope to the children this school served which include 2000 youngsters, a number of whom had the additional challenge of being hearing impaired.

I felt tears well up in my eyes as I listened. I felt unworthy of such high accolades. We raised money but they were doing the difficult hands on, day to day work of molding young lives under the most challenging of circumstances with limited resources. I also was filled with a sense of how much one library, funded by many in a different part of the world, had the potential to bring about true change in this community and beyond. To my core, I was humbled. I felt the weight of responsibility to do more to be worthy of a fraction of the high praise freely bestowed on us this day.

After the speeches concluded, a silence hung comfortably in the air as we were left to our thoughts while we waited for the librarian to arrive. After a few moments, there was word she was coming and we headed outside. The head mistress explained to me as we walked slowly across the dirt field navigating the rocks and high weeds to the library building that the librarian was a former student of hers. She beamed with pride as she spoke of her pupil turned colleague. You can see her beautiful smile in this picture as she laughs with Leyla and me.

The library building was an small, unassuming rectangular brick building. But for this school, it was a huge and valued new asset. It represents hope for raising the level of education and ambition to succeed among their youth. Our funding would provide the books, the shelves, and reading areas to transform it from an open space with a couple tables and a few piles of books into a working library. The librarian and school officials would ensure it was incorporated into the school curriculum.

As my boys, ten and fourteen, walked around the small room, I could see on their faces they were comparing this modest room to the libraries they are accustomed to in their schools back home. Even fully furnished with a complete set of books, it would be a far cry from what they took for granted. We did get a sense of how small the world has become when my ten year old delightedly discovered a dusty copy of his favorite Harry Potter book from the series among the small piles that sat on sparse shelves. Our family, with a number of the school officials in front of the library building, are pictured below.

By the time school resumes in the fall for the students fortunate enough to attend, this first "Leyla Library" will be ready to welcome them. For all those who contributed financially, by joining our cause, or with words of encouragement, rest assured you made a different in the lives of these 2000 kids. They in turn will touch many others as the amazing effect of adding hope and possibility in the lives of the young ripples out from Bahir Dar, Ethiopia back into the world.

Going Back to Ethiopia - Closing A Circle - Dream big! Dream peace! And work hard to achieve it!!

November 2008, we traveled to Ethiopia to meet our daughter and bring her back to our home in the Pacific Northwest. We are returning to her homeland with her as a three year old and her two brothers, now ten and fourteen. We have a completely different purpose. We want to connect our daughter with her birthright and introduce our boys to the land of their adored little sister. I see evidence of the connection they already have in images like this ID card of my eldest son (from the year his sister came home). Where unbeknownst to me, he added an Ethiopian stamp. We are also fulfilling
a promise we made to ourselves to help the children of this amazing land.

Our connections to Ethiopia have grown. We connected with Jane Kurtz, a renowned children’s author who grew up in Ethiopia and is a tireless volunteer for Ethiopia Reads. We met Melissa Faye Greene, a award winning journalist who wrote about the challenges in Ethiopia related to AIDS and HIV and is an adoptive mother of 5 including 4 from Ethiopia. We found Yadesa Bojia (or rather he found us on facebook) the artist who designed the African Union flag and himself a shiny example of the possibilities if you fight to overcome the circumstance many Ethiopian children face. The bonus is Yadesa lives in our town.

We are also working with Dana Roskey who lost his Ethiopian fiance in a tragic car accident as part of our efforts to put another Ethiopia Reads library in Addis. He is now fulfilling his fiance's dream of providing education and hope to the children of her ancient country. We are going back thanks to the help of Habtu Tekeba, an Ethiopian travel agent, with some assistance from Jane Kurtz and her brother, is making a better life and future for his family and helping those like us honor our connections. We are also grateful for the chance to honor the man who was instrumental in bringing our daughter safely to us. He is a protector of children and is fighting each day to save one more . . Ato Teklu. We can’t wait to show him how much little Leyla Marie Fasika has grown and flourished since he last saw her.

We were asked to draft the language to put on the plaque for the first Ethiopia Reads library in Bahir Dar -- funded through generous contributions of friends, colleagues, family and perfect strangers. Michael and I wanted it to reflect our hope for Ethiopia and her children as well as our love for our daughter.

This library is for the children of Bahir Dar, birthplace of Leyla Marie Fasika, beloved daughter of Ellenore and Michael Angelidis and cherished sister of Dimitri and Damian Angelidis.

"Once you learn to read, you will be forever free." Frederick B. Douglass.



But the more I thought, it didn’t seem enough. I wanted to inspire these children (some shown in the photo above) to see hope for their future and the role reading and education could play in making it more than just a dream. I reached out to Yadesa and asked if he would be willing to help me. Yadesa responded beyond my expectations. He provided a signed African Union flag he designed to adorn the wall of the new library. He gave me posters and copies of a cookbook with his art that was a tribute to the Lucy exhibit he designed in Seattle (which ironically occurred when we were last in Ethiopia). And he committed to visit the children when he is in Ethiopia.

When talking about the flag, he told me, “I ordered another flag and it just arrived. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with it, honestly. Then you reached out and I knew that was where the flag was meant to be.” I asked if he would also be willing to provide some words to the kids. He wrote a beautiful letter in Amharic for the children of Bahir Dar (translated below for us English speakers).

Dear Students;

The great African leader Nelson Mandela once said "Education is a power weapon to change the world."

In today’s world, where science and technology is at its highest peak, you might feel like the lack of school, materials and all the basic necessities around you might keep you from playing a vital role in your country as well as community. But with all the hardship around you, education will help you to win the battle just like Mandela said.

Dear students, with education there is no mountain you can't climb and there is no dream you can't achieve. You are defined not by the poverty and struggle around you but by the effort you put to better yourself.

When I was a little kid, I used to worry about my future until I understood education is my ticket out of poverty. The poverty around me helped me to be dedicated to my goals. The poverty around me did not hinder me from dreaming, instead it pushed me to go after my dream.

So I beg you and urge you to seek education to change your future and your country’s future. You are tomorrow’s leaders and your dedication will better it for generations to come. Dream big! Dream peace! And work hard to achieve it!!

From Ethiopia to Seattle, back to Ethiopia, and then back to Seattle and so it goes on - - much has come full circle in 2.5 short years. Yadesa’s words are for all of us: Dream big! Dream peace! And work hard to achieve it!!

Happy 3rd Birthday, Happy Memorial Day, Happy National Day in Ethiopia . . .

On May 27, 2008, a little baby girl was born in Bahir Dar, Ethiopia. We would see her face for the first time 4 months later in our referral picture. Our lives were forever altered when we met her at six months old in person in Addis Ababa. Much change occured in three short years. She is no longer a tiny infant with huge eyes silently taking in the world. Now she is a feisty, chatty, take the world by the tail, adorable pre-schooler. She owns the heart of each member of the family with her fierce, joyful nature. We celebrated her full third year of life with a delicious Ethiopian dinner at a great eatery named Kokeb . Kokeb means star in Amharic, a literal translations would be "Star Restaurant". Leyla is definitely the "star" in our family, pictured below. Leyla apparently was not in the mood to flash her trademark smile. Having a long Memorial Day weekend to spend with the family is heavenly in the hustle and bustle of life with two working parents and three active kids.



If Leyla were still living in Ethiopia, she would likely be celebrating a different national holiday. They commemorate May 28, 1991 when the Ethiopian People's Revolutionary Democratic Front, a united coalition of insurgent factions, took over Addis Ababa signaling the downfall of the Derg regime. I realized that year was significant to us too. In 1991, Michael and I married. And later that year I entered law school.

In Ethiopia, the Marxist Derg seized control throwing out Haile Selassie I, the previous Emperor from 1930 to 1974, beginning a civil war that lasted from 1974 to 1991. It is reported many thousands were killed during campaigns against ethnic groups in rural areas. The Derg regime is considered by many as responsible for among the worst human rights abuses during its seventeen years in power. Today, many participate in parades and popular demonstrations in larger Ethiopian towns and cities to celebrate their downfall. The celebrations are designed to be a reminder of the humanity and equality of all peoples.

As we get ready to travel back to Ethiopia, we look forward to seeing and learning more about this amazing country. We are excited to see the new Ethiopia Reads Library in Bahir Dar giving children from Leyla’s hometown the chance to read, thanks to generous donations from family, friends and even strangers. We were asked what we would like on the commorative plate. I gave it some deep thought because we wanted it to reflect so much: our gratitude to Ethiopia, our hope for its children, our desire for our daughter to be at home in her birth country as well as our deep and abiding love for her. We settled on:

This library is for the children of Bahir Dar, birthplace of Leyla Marie Fasika, beloved daughter of Ellenore and Michael Angelidis and cherished sister of Dimitri and Damian Angelidis.

"Once you learn to read, you will be forever free." Frederick B. Douglass.

Pictures of the school that will house the library and the children who will read the books are below. We can’t wait to meet them this summer.



But there is always more to do . . so much need. We are now working on funding for a second library in Addis, Ababa. We are approximately a third of the way there. Damian and I are planning a bake sale here in Seattle. If you are in the neighborhood, enjoy some delicious goodies and help out a good cause. We are calling it . . “Baking for books.” I you are in a position to help, you can also donate on-line or contact me for information if you want to send a check.

All children should have the opportunity to learn to read and to be forever free. This weekend, we joyously celebrate with Ethiopia the equality of all people.

Mother's Day(s) -- Antrosht-- Comes after the Rains Stop . . at least in Ethiopia

Celebrating Mother’s Day is a special time for me. My husband and my kids each have their own way of making me feel cherished. The method changes as they grow but the sentiment is true. This year, my 10 year old was proud to have prepared my morning coffee and brought it to me in bed. He then produced a homemade card which introduced his power point presentation. It showed his quirky nature including "a mom graph" and favorite things he likes to do with me. He had been tucked away in secret for days working on it. My 14 year old designed a card. The cover showed his artistic talent which included a number of clever hidden messages I would likely have missed without his explanation. Inside, he opened his heart providing me a peak into his inner self and his view of our connection. My 3 year old got into the act with a wonderful painting of a butterfly where the wings were her hands. She’s couldn’t quite get the celebratory wording of the day right. She kept telling me “Happy Mother’s Time,” which seemed almost better.

Since she is adopted from Ethiopia, I wondered how mother’s day is celebrated in her home country. I found familiar dates in the US have different significance elsewhere as I blogged about previously. Having been raised by Dutch parents and marrying a Greek native, I learned not to assume a significant day for America is necessarily significant elsewhere. What I learned was quite interesting.

Ethiopia celebrates Mother’s day(s), “Antrosht,” in the fall, after the rainy season. It doesn't have a fixed date but can occur in October or November depending on when the rain lets up. The family celebrates with a meal and continues the festivities over two to three days. I like this version already. The children bring ingredients to make a traditional hash. Girls are charged with bringing butter, cheese, vegetables and spices; the boys with bringing a bull or lamb. I was fascinated that it broke down gender lines even at this young age. I imagined Leyla bringing her ingredients. I think she would embrace her part as she enjoys the culinary arts. As soon as she spots me begin activities at the kitchen counter, she pushes a bar stools, significantly taller than she, over next to me. She then excited climbs up, anxious not to miss a thing. Once she is safely perched, she scans the landscape and asks, “Can I help, Mama? PLEASE!”

In the Ethiopian celebration, the mom prepares the meat hash. A little different than my ideal Mother’s day where I don’t have to lift a finger. (I did say ideal, this has never actually occurred). Also the mother and daughter there put butter on their faces and chests as part of the ritual. This could be fun although maybe not so good for my combination complexion. Having caught Leyla experimenting with my creams and lotions on more than one occasion, I imagine she would have fun with this.

They dance and sing songs about family and heroes. This I like too. Leyla is moved by music. When she hears a favorite song on the radio, she enthusiastically orders, “Dance with me, Mama!!” I scope her up and happily swinging her around. We both laughing giddily. Her ten year old brother, my budding photographer, took some pictures of us cavorting about a year back, seen below. She never seems to tire of it. And my soul soars when I have her in my arms joyfully moving to the beat or watching her twirl with abandon alone. She also loves to make her own music. When we drive around on the weekends, I hear her little cartoon character voice blending with the pop vocals emanating from the car stereo. I find a spontaneous smile spread across my face as I peak at her sweet face in the rear view mirror. She sings purely for herself which is truly beautiful.




After the rainy season finishes in Ethiopia this fall, we may celebrate a version of “Antrosht” or Ethiopian “Mother’s Time” in Seattle (ironically when the rain starts here) to honor of my daughter’s heritage -- now part of our family fabric-- and to honor motherhood which shouldn’t be celebrated just one day a year.

Addis Ababa, Ethiopia to the US Pacific Northwest

Arriving in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia our first time was an amazing experience. An African Union Conference was meeting there that weekend. In the airport, we were treated to a visual assault of vibrant colors. Flowing garments and headdresses moved effortlessly about us. The clothing depicted the vast diversity of Africa converging. We had the unusual experience of being both the drabbest in khakis and the most conspicuous with the lightest pigments (okay, way more true for me than my Greek born husband) in the sea of browns and blacks. As I sat quietly on a bench waiting for Michael to get our Visas, I thought, “This will be our daughter’s frequent experience in reverse.” It was humbling. I felt the weight of that responsibility settle on my shoulders.

During our brief stay in Addis, our Ethiopian lawyer wanted to sure the adoptive families (three of us met in Addis to pick up our daughters) got a taste of our kids' homeland. I sensed the grave mission he owned to instill a sense of his rich culture into adoptive parents who may never return. For their children, these brief experiences explained one day perhaps with accompanying photos may be all they have of their mother culture.

I discussed him previously as he left an indelible impression. He had strength of resolve you felt from the first meeting. He was not a man to be trifled with and these children were his life’s purpose. I recall some impatience with what felt like somewhat of a distraction from our main focus -- bringing home our child. As an new adoptive parent, I had so much worry permeating and swirling in my head it was hard for much else to register.

Meeting our child in such a foreign place and in such a foreign manner to us compared to our two biological sons made an unreal haze hang over all we did. As a new mother again, I worried about what my child might experience as she left the land of her birth and the comfortable reality of the transition house where she was clearly cherished. How would she handle the long trip back? And when we arrived home . .what will be her challenges?

One of the places we visited was the Ethiopian National Museum. Lucy, the oldest human skeletal remains, found a new resting place here. She was also given a second (Amharic) name: dinqineš, or Dinkenesh, meaning "you are amazing" which struck me as the more appropriate one. As irony would have it, Lucy was on tour and at that time on exhibit in our home town of Seattle. As we walked through the exhibits, I was struck by how many were in need of upkeep as well as the tremendously long and rich history they represented. Being in the birthplace of humankind and of new our daughter, took my breath away. We drank in our beautiful Ethiopian baby girl in the morning and these sights in the afternoon. It was almost too much to fully absorb.

As we plan a repeat visit, I look forward to introducing my sons and my now toddler daughter to their shared ancient history. Below are a series of photos taken on Leyla's first birthday. She is proudly perched between her adoring brothers. Both dressed in traditional Ethiopian garb with their ebony carved treasures we brought from their sister's homeland. Leyla is draped in an lovely Ethiopian scarf. (Leyla had already outgrown her matching outfit.) The backdrop is the purple rhododendrons marking the advent of spring in the Pacific Northwest -- a beautiful melding of beauty from two diverse parts of the globe. Looking at them again brought tears to my eyes. What amazing joy and color filled our lives since bringing home our daughter home from Addis.







In another twist, as we raised money through Ethiopia Reads to put libraries in schools in honor of our daughter, I received an interesting contact. An man named Yadesa Bojia, who identified himself as an Ethiopian artist, volunteered his services to aid our fundraising. As we exchanged information, I learned his family lives in the same general area we do. I looked at his artwork on line and learned he won a contest for the design of the new flag for the African Union shown above. The stars and light streaming out from backdrop of Africa wonderfully reflect our experience too. I thought back to that first day in Addis. I am honored to add one more special connection to the continent that gave us our daughter and enriched our lives. And I definitely plan to take Yaddi up on his generous offer . . stay tuned.

I am an 'Opia (Ethiopia) Baby!

As we prepare to visit Ethiopia for the first time since bringing Leyla home two years ago, I see elements of this East African culture becoming woven into our life. Leyla is beginning to understand pieces of her story. She excitedly exclaimed to me the other day, “I am an ‘Opia baby!!” Ever since we went to a celebration at the local Ethiopian Culture Center, she speaks often about “’Opia.”

She has an amazingly close but different relationship with each of her two brothers. She recently told me, “My boys came from ‘Opia too.” I explained that her brothers came from mommy’s tummy. She looked straight into my eyes with her piercing black ones and replied “I came from ‘Opia. My boys came from mommy’s tummy.” I loved that her tone implied no judgment but was simply a statement of fact. Then she giggled her infectious laugh and hugged me tight. Her little arms wrapped around my neck with the tickle of her black ringlets on my cheek takes my breath away every time no matter how often she does it.

I see signs she feels a pull from her native land. I found her playing with a traditional Ethiopian coffee pot (pictured). I am not sure how she got it down but she is resourceful. As I watched her play, I thought such a pot was certainly a part of her earliest experiences. She seems drawn to things in our house that originated from Ethiopia. I love seeing it. It both feels natural and right. But it doesn’t feel sufficient. And I know it is my responsibility to make sure we honor her heritage.





A facebook page called something like "The Ethiopia no one tells you about” reminded me of the dual purpose I had for this blog. First, I wanted to raise awareness of the need that remains there. I also wanted to show the rich history and immense beauty. This page was filled with lovely images of the people, land, music and food very different than the stark photos more often associated with that region. This is the Ethiopia we saw and I want my children to see. Not to forget the need but not let it dwarf all else that is wonderful there. Here are some amazing sights from our first visit.





The family is abuzz with anticipation. My sons have never been. As my eldest enters high school, I see this trip as a reminder to him, and his brother, they are global citizens. They are now directly tied to three continents and four peoples. We are learning how big and small the globe really is.

For my daughter, I want Ethiopia in her memories; through pictures, stories, art, food and culture. My husband is Greek. We took the kids to his homeland since they were infants. My parents are Dutch and although less frequently, we visit Holland too. Those countries are home to us rather than foreign lands. We treasure the multi-cultural richness of our lives which now also includes Ethiopia.

People ask me, “Why don’t you wait until she is old enough to remember?” I understand the question. But I am greedy for my daughter. I want more than memories of a special trip for her. I want her country to remain a vital part of who she is. I want her to see herself in pictures there at different points in her early life. I want her to hear stories of trips that she might not remember. I want her to see her family in her land as we embrace it as ours too.

I believe those pre-memory experiences are powerful influences. I want those experiences to be the framework of her ties to her birth country supplemented through our everyday efforts. I desire the same for the whole family but more acutely for Leyla. I want Ethiopia to truly be home for my amazing‘Opia baby.

Connections to Ethiopia Grow Deeper

Adopting from Ethiopia connected us forever to East Africa. However, it was up to us what that connection would look like. When I first started blogging here as an effort to give back, I researched many things Ethiopian. I came across Ethiopia Reads, a charity focused on building libraries in the founder's home country, which I mentioned in an early blog. With a few months, I put together a couple boxes of books and sent them to their office. When I did so, I discovered an interesting connection. Their US office is not far from my parent's home in Denver where I grew up. I received a lovely thank you note. The Reading Angel picture above was on the cover along with this story inside.

“The Reading Angel depicted on this card is one of the hundreds painted on the ceiling of the Church of Debre Birhan Selassie in Gondar, Ethiopia. Built in the 17th Century, it is the only churches remaining after the city was invaded in 1888. It is said that a swarm of bees descended on the soldiers as they attached the church compound and that the Archangel Michael stood before the large wooden gates with his flaming sword drawn. It is considered one of the most significant churches in Ethiopia.”

The story provided another connection. My husband is named after this Archangel and my second son's middle name is Michael.

To add some Ethiopian themes to our children's book collection for our daughter, I searched on Amazon.com. I found amazing books by Jane Kurtz. She was born in the Pacific Northwest where we now live. Two of our favorites are “Fire on the Mountain” and “Trouble.” She grew up in Ethiopia and her amazing books gave our family a richer view of a very different experience that is now part of our family. Late last year, I found her on facebook and sent her a note of thanks and asked if we could connect.

On that same day in December, I saw Ethiopia Reads again and browsed their website more deeply. I saw on their "how you can help" page opportunities to raise money for a library in a school. I was intrigued. My parents and my husband are teachers. We believe strongly in the transformative power of reading. This opportunity appealed to us. I sent an email to get more information about raising funds for a library. I received a wonderful response back from Jane Kurtz. Turns out she is leading the library planting effort. She commented on received both my requests through facebook and Ethiopia Reads on the same day. And she mentioned her fascination with all the ways we are interconnected. After our discussions, we decided to move forward with the library.

I reached out via facebook causes as well as directly to many family and friends – you see it at the top of the blog. The response was amazing. One friend and his wife showed their support with a much larger than expected gift and a note "for Leyla's library." I was so touched. I felt tears fill my eyes at the simplicity and beauty of the note. "Leyla's Library" now seemed so much closer. A senior executive I worked with some years ago sent in a large contribution. In his enthusiatic response to our efforts, I also learned about his similar work in his homeland. Many others helped in smaller ways. Some surprised me: my yoga teacher, friends of my teenage son, people I had lost contact with but still had their email in my system. One of those friends shared her story. She was one of the founders the Young Women’s Leadership Charter School which serves “at risk” girls in urban Chicago. Oprah modeled her girl school in Africa after that one. I never knew any of this but I was inspired to hear it. I also heard from people I didn't know at all including an Italian family who had similarly adopted an Ethiopian daughter. The connections were building and stretching different directions.

In a few short months, we are close to having the funds for the first library which will bear our daughter’s name. Given the tremendous support and gaping need, we plan to begin work on fundraising for a second. We are starting fulfill the promise we made to ourselves and to our baby daughter to help in the land of her birth. Our connections are becoming stronger and more defined. And Leyla (our little sunshine angel seen below at 15 months) will have a place there she can truly call her own.