Media coverage

Mulu was fortunate. Her parents were comparatively well-off financially, by the standards of Ethiopia – and they were deeply generous people motivated by a deep and abiding faith. “I grew up in a very good Orthodox (Christian) household and society,” says Mulu, who is a member of Holy Transfiguration Orthodox Church in Madison. (More than half of the population of Ethiopia belongs to the Orthodox Christian faith.) “

I have learned a lot from my parents,” she says. “They raised more than 10 of their relatives and helped them to go to school … My mom and dad used to take food, drinks and clothing to the church where most of the homeless people gather around during holidays like Easter and Christmas.”

But even in such a family, the pain caused by poverty and civil war was never far away. “My mother had seven miscarriages,” says Mulu, “and I still have memories of the civil war … life was traumatic there. And when someone was sick, there was so little that could be done.”

Mulu graduated from high school – something many Ethiopian girls cannot do – and was able to come to the United States when she married and was able to attend college to become an RN. “I remember when I was a child playing with my friends, I used to pretend as if I was a nurse and trying to help patients, giving them medications,” she says.

But in one of the poorest countries in the world, with a life expectancy rate of 48 and almost 100 deaths for every 1,000 live births, even the hospitals are nightmarish. “The crowd, the filth, the waiting, the lack of even sitting benches … the smell, the miserable faces of the loved ones who bring the sick,” she remembers – and patients may have walked for 10 hours to get there.

Ethiopian society is plagued by myriad health problems. AIDS is a major issue there, with an estimated 3 million people infected and taboos against discussing ways to prevent the disease, such as condom use.

In addition, more than 70 percent women in Ethiopia are subjected to the traditional cultural practice of “girizat,” often referred to as female circumcision but more accurately described as genital mutilation. While officially discouraged by the government as well as many religious leaders, the practice is nevertheless common throughout the entire region – despite religious background, education, or economic status.

Some girls die as a direct result of the procedure, from bleeding and shock; many women later suffer incontinence, pain during intercourse and complications in childbirth. A movement is underway to educate the population about the problems of the practice – but again, discussion about these problems is taboo. “In Ethiopia, people won’t talk about sex in public,” says Mulu, “but now people are beginning to open up.”

Ethiopians also suffer from all the health complications that arise from poverty itself – dysentery, tuberculosis, pneumonia, malnutrition and anemia. Children die of upper respiratory illnesses, diarrhea, and fevers; nearly 60 percent of childhood morbidity is entirely preventable with medicines readily available in other parts of the world. Mulu wants to see these realities change and she is hoping that with the financial help of others who care about the problem, she can work with a committee in Ethiopia to help bring about small changes at first, and bigger ones later.

“I feel so lucky to be here,” Mulu says. “I feel so blessed. But I still have flashbacks from what I witnessed as a child. I was only one step away from that kind of poverty.” Today, Mulu is studying for her BSN, along with her job in the Medical Intensive Care Unit at St Mary’s. Her children Mesi, 16; and twins Mikias and Marcus, 11, attend local schools; she also has baby Michael, at home. Around those many commitments, Mulu is working on her Clinic At A Time project, a not-for-profit charitable organization. Much of her energy comes from her faith: “I think my faith helped me to become a better person and to do good for people,” she says. “It also helped and still is helping me to hold on to the things that I believe in and to have a positive attitude about all the things I do and whatever is going on in my life.”

Mulu recognizes the need for accountability in her clinic project. “This organization will work closely with the (Ethiopian) regional governmental authorities, other civic organizations and community volunteers,” she says, adding that the Ethiopian committee will “include trusted and well-respected elders, as well as experienced professionals to oversee the project’s execution closely.” Projects to be funded will be selected based on “cost, level of impact to the area’s residents … and the time needed to complete the project.”

Mulu has also created a Web site with more information about the organization, and as projects progress, construction updates will be posted on the site. “At the completion of each project, its impact on the actual users of the services will be measured and documented,” she says.

Mulu’s greatest challenge might be to help Americans – especially those in the prosperous Madison area – understand the dire need in Gojjam. At an open house recently, Mulu showed a videotape of a “clinic” (actually, a shack) there. “I want people to see we really aren’t exaggerating; it really is that bad,” she says.