Forgiveness — Indigenous Style

Whew. . . I got off easy!

I was forty-nine years old, company sold, retired, money in my jeans, off to travel the world, eager to learn about different cultures, and experience foreign sensations. Seven years later, I was in Timia, Niger, when a little girl, about six years old, came to me carrying a younger sibling. Both children had flies on their faces. It struck me that this little girl could have been my granddaughter, Ella, who had done nothing special to be born into a safe, well-fed environment.

Presto — my magic moment arrived — I knew my purpose. I was done being a tourist. My mission became figuring out how little girls and boys living in harsh conditions could have a chance for a healthy life.

Twelve months later I was starting to work in the extreme southwestern corner of Ethiopia, building relationships with the Hamar tribe, my new chosen people, distributing free medicine.

More than 86 percent suffer from intestinal parasites and a daily dose of mebendazole for a week delivers relief. Mebendazole was an easy purchase in Addis Ababa, and I stuffed hundreds of packages in my black duffel bag to distribute to rural communities when I made the trek to south Omo valley.

One morning, prior to leaving for the field, Bayu, my driver, and I hurriedly packed the truck. I thought Bayu had grabbed the medicine bag from the closet but the English to Amharic translation was spotty at best. When we unloaded in the field, it started to rain so we staged all the luggage and food supplies on a tarp while we frantically erected the tents. Hundreds of people crowded around to watch us. When we discovered that the medicine bag was missing, a little boy, Wuchele, said he saw Kole (a young Hamar man) take the bag. The elders believed Wuchele and took Kole into custody for five days. They felt that Wuchele had no reason to lie, so Kole must be guilty. Marmaru, the Hamar shaman, flipped his sandals to receive divine guidance. After five days, Marmaru was not convinced that Kole was guilty, so the elders released him.

When Bayu and I returned to Addis, we discovered the medicine bag still in my closet. I was devastated. We contacted Emnet, the current Hamar woreda administrator for advice. Emnet advised that we wait until I was able to return to Hamar to tell the community that I had made a mistake, and that Kole had been falsely accused.

The first thing I did when we arrived back in the field was to request a meeting of the elders and Kole. We gathered under the big tree in the sandy riverbed. I told the community what had happened and that I had made a terrible mistake and wanted to make amends. The elders and Kole talked and talked. After lengthy discussion, I was told, No worries, I am a human being, and human beings make mistakes. The elders and Kole agreed that I needed to pay Kole approximately $100 for the livestock he had lost during his imprisonment.

Then, everyone stood and faced west. Kole and I held hands at the front of the group. In unison, we all took four steps forward and voila —I was forgiven, and everyone was happy. No grudges.

No penalties. Everyone and everything were once again in harmony. Kole gave me a goat toshow he had no hard feelings for my mistake. Several years later, he became an Erga (community teacher), and we paid him to help with our projects.

I think that was the moment when I really understood the profound wisdom of these uneducated, highly civilized people. Imagine how different today’s world would be if globally and collectively we focused on harmony versus greed and power.

We have much to learn from these wise men and women. They never carry emotional baggage. When these beautiful Hamar people forgive, the issue is over. They are filled with wisdom to share — if our minds are open, willing to listen and observe.