The next day, I come into the bedroom to get dressed, and T is breathing very heavily in the bathroom. I’m not sure what’s happening, but it doesn’t sound good. A few minutes later, he emerges, clutching his back. He fell down in the shower and cracked his back on the side of the tub and he is not a happy man. We chalk this up to us being the least healthy volunteers ever: M, B and T have all had ringworm, I got scabies, we all got food poisoning, and now T is crippled for life because he fell down in the bath like an 80 year old.

That night, we go to big AHOPE for program. The kids try to jump all over T, but he tells them about his back, and they nod, eyes wide. Then they come over to me, and I make jokes about how he is so old and teach them to walk like old men with a cane. They take to it quickly, and soon I have a bunch of boys hobbling around the yard and T is giving me some wicked stinkeye.

For program, we are supposed to be coming up with more songs and stories, and we have to practice the songs in the van with Abebe’s friend, who has a guitar. We sing the same songs over and over until we know them, and the kids surround the van, peeking into the windows, trying to get in with us. The ones who don’t want to get into the van stand outside with plastic guns from God knows where, pointing them at my head, and then cracking up when I pretend to keel over and die mid-song. Meanwhile, Smiley and Yidnicacho play a game of soccer that involves them kicking at each other, which eventually causes Yidni to tumble to the ground laughing, defeated by a 12-year-old.

In program, we sing the songs, but there aren’t enough sheets with the words to go around, so I end up with about five kids squished in with me, trying to read the words. Abebe gives us candy to hand out to all the kids, and as always, they take it politely but then wolf it down. We get some too, and we wolf it down just as fast and then start the long walk home with my husband, the geriatric.

On Monday, we go to little AHOPE for class, and one of the kindergarteners is there, riding a little bike back and forth around the yard. I recognize him, but his head has been shorn, so I’m not sure if he’s new or not. M confirms that he isn’t, and he and I spend about an hour together, with me watching him ride and change bikes, and both of us shooing the other kids away because they should be in class.

Then a lady shows up, asking for Princess. Princess comes out and the lady hugs her. Princess is being adopted, and we didn’t even know. Her mother has come to take her back to America. They hug, her mom looks deeply into her eyes, and then, after some discussion about how short Princess’ hair is, she’s gone. She will have a bon voyage party later in the week, but for now, she’s with her mom, and it’s a lot less fun without her sass.

After going to BIG AHOPE class on the way home, a bunch of teenage kids in school uniforms pass us and nod hello. We say hi and ask how they are, and they just smile, wave and keep walking. Later on, we realize they are the kids from the deaf school and we feel a little ridiculous for expecting them to respond. Even though the kids can’t hear or speak our language, they are still just as friendly as any other Ethiopians, which hardly comes as a surprise.

On Saturday, we go to the NGO bazaar at B’s church. The church is full of stalls with all kinds of lovely paintings and blankets and jewelry and other exciting things. T stays at Kaldi’s Coffee up the road, and M, Kate and I shop. I take the opportunity to buy a painting for T’s birthday that he likes, but I’m not wild about. I AM SUCH A GOOD WIFE. I make M sneak it into her bag so we can get past him, and then I make the girls calculate how much everything else should have cost, so that when I give him the change, it all makes sense to the big math nerd. It does, and I rest assured in the knowledge that I am genius, as Eyob would say.

We try to go to the police station to get M and T fingerprinted for various causes, but they won’t let us in. Instead, we send Kate off to get her tickets for our trip up north, and the three of us go to lunch at the Melting Pot to eat Mexican food. Addis has great Mexican food. I’m not sure why, and I’m not too interested in questioning it, as long as I have burritos.

On the way home, we buy bread from the stall by our house. As we’re walking down the road, three kids and their mother start following us. It goes without saying that we’re buying them bread, mainly because we’re suckers. We give them the bread, and two more girls appear out of nowhere, with tattered clothes and dirty faces. We hand them each a stick of bread and they walk away delighted, thanking us with every step.